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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467150">A Roomful of Casablancas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Covenmouse/pseuds/Covenmouse'>Covenmouse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, F/M, If you like murder mysteries with a side helping of ghosts and romance this may be your bag, Mystery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:27:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,300</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467150</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Covenmouse/pseuds/Covenmouse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Senator Marcus Holden is proclaimed dead after being lost at sea during a spontaneous, and thoroughly out-of-character vacation. His estranged daughter, Rei, isn't surprised in the least. Her father may never have believed in his daughter's psychic gifts in life, but in death he is more than happy to haunt her, and his former business partner, until he gets his way. Unfortunately, neither of them know what the spirit wants, and finding out may mean crossing the formidable Holden matriarch who reigns over her family with an iron grip.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chiba Mamoru/Tsukino Usagi, Hino Rei/Jadeite, Senshi/Shitennou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/578002">A Roomful of Casablancas</a> by Lady Fenix.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Wow. It's taken around three years to get me to post this, and I'm still nervous about it. Some of you may recognize the title, so I want to be clear: I am not, nor was I ever, Lady Fenix. This fanfic is a tribute to (and "remix" of) her <a href="https://www.fanfiction.net/s/1383304/1/A-roomful-of-Casablancas"><em>A Roomful of Casablancas</em></a>, which ceased posting sixteen years ago. After a long time wishing that it had finished, I decided to try and create something with half the magic hers had. I've used some of her characters, and a very similar starting plot (though I'm definitely taking it in a direction I don't believe she would have,) but not her words. </p><p>To be honest, I wasn't able to contact her for permission. Effort was made, using all the contact points I could find and speaking with several people who knew her back in the day. However, those efforts came to naught. </p><p>Lady Fenix, if you're still out there, this is for you. This is my way of saying thank you, again, for writing fic that I couldn't forget, fic that I continue to re-read even after all this time. You are missed. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>To: HinoRei@sendai-hill.jp</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>From: M.R.Holden@HoldenIndustrial.com</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Subject: About Your Father</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is with profound apology and deepest sorrow that I must inform you of your father's death. He is to be interred in the family plot at St. Catherine’s this weekend.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I regret the manner of this email, but as time is of the essence and our time</span>
  <span>zones</span>
  <span> so broad, I fear I am left with little other option. Attached to this email are details of a flight I've taken the liberty to book on your behalf. Should you choose to accept, we would be very grateful for your attendance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I know that things have not always been kind between us, but I do hope to see you soon. Let me know if you are attending and I will be certain someone is waiting for you at JFK. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sincerely,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin Holden</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Holden Industrial Enterprises, C.F.O.</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>The email was not a surprise.  A week prior, Senator Marcus Holden boarded a transAtlantic cruise ship to London, partly for pleasure and partly for business.  He never debarked. Officials searched the ship prow to stern and found no sign of foul play, nor any indication where Senator Holden might have gone.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The incident had been making international headlines both for the sheer oddity of the disappearance and the calamity of it happening in international, effectively lawless waters.  Many people expected him to turn up eventually, either kidnapped or—more implausibly—to learn that he transferred passage to a private yacht for some underhanded political dealing.  There was even a theory he'd never boarded the vessel at all, though the passenger logs, security cameras, and the belongings in his cabin indicated otherwise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>Marcus was dead.  She had known before she'd heard about the disappearance; possibly even before he'd boarded the ship that would seal his fate.  In some ways, she felt guilty for not warning him, but she also knew Marcus never would have listened, even if she'd tried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marcus Holden had been many things: a fantastically lucrative business mogul, a popular and fair-minded politician, a passionate lawyer, an unflinching liar, an absent father, and a neglective husband.  He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>the sort of man who believed in spirits and fortune-telling or empathy and foresight.  His daughter did because his daughter was first and foremost her mother's child. She had lived with the burden of her maternal gifts her entire life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knew he was dead.  The </span>
  <em>
    <span>invitation </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the surprise.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Something wrong?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathaniel Maxfield, CEO of Kingdom—a former indie record label now taking the international music industry by storm—sat on the nearby futon couch watching her with those damnable, too-observant eyes. Though every line of his body reflected peace and tranquility—his overall “hippie” vibe reinforced by long dark hair that was pulled into a messy bun, the shaggy scruff on his jaw, and his fingers absently strumming his favorite old Gibson—there was a tightness to his energy that warned Rei he’d noticed her shock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathaniel noticing meant Nathaniel was about to get involved, which was the absolute last thing Rei wanted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She forced a breath into her lungs, let it out, and took another. Her voice still didn’t want to work. Panic, guilt, and shock were not good bedfellows. Before she could drag forth a convincing lie, Nathaniel’s hand stilled over the strings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure enough, his next words were concerned and quiet, and exactly what she didn’t want to talk about. "They found your father?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was also </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> what she needed to break herself from the emotional jumble. Rei glanced anew at the cellphone in her hands. The email was still up, visible evidence that she hadn’t been hallucinating. Her Uncle wanted her at Marcus’ funeral. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, the situation seemed utterly hysterical. They wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the funeral. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hadn’t wanted her at birthdays or holidays or any other family gatherings in the past twenty-eight years. Her father’s family hadn’t acknowledged her—not </span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span>—since she was six-years-old and boarding a plane to a country she’d never seen, accompanied by a mother who would be dead within a year. None of them had attended Akemi’s funeral, not even Marcus. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But they expected her to be there for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her lips clamped over the urge to laugh, her throat constricting with the effort to contain it. Nathaniel didn’t need her having a breakdown over something so… so </span>
  <em>
    <span>pointless</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gave him a jerky nod, gesturing with the phone as she said, “You can google the details if you want them.” Then she tossed the cell onto the couch and stormed across the workroom to her piano. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Her</span>
  </em>
  <span> piano. Rei’s fingers hesitated over the ivory as her guts twisted again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had taken her years—three, to be precise—to feel at home here. Maxfield Manor was a sprawling, ridiculous edifice of the sort only built by the super-rich and American nationals. Both adjectives technically described Nathaniel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They also described her father’s family, a fact which certainly contributed to her unease when he’d announced the building plans for this place. Kingdom had just rounded its first million-dollar year, which had proven to Nathaniel’s father that his son’s “ridiculous pipe dream” was anything but. He’d reinstated Nathaniel as the Maxfield family heir-apparent and returned access to Nathaniel’s trust fund. Both factors contributed to Nathaniel’s nesting urge as he and his new wife prepared for their burgeoning family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The manor laid a few miles outside of Tokyo beside a rural farming village. The lands were extensive and well-tended by his wife and her small army of gardeners, and the house itself was an eclectic fusion of traditional Japanese styling and modern conveniences. A great example of the latter was this workroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three of the walls were traditional-looking screens modeled after shoji but lacking the flexibility, with a real sliding door built into the long wall that exited on an interior courtyard veranda. The fourth wall, opposite the door, was drywall and glass; specifically long glass windows and a glass-set door leading into a sound-proofed recording studio. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The audio booth controls were set against the same wall, with the piano just beyond them facing the futon couches on the far end. But even with those luxuries, the wood flooring, the screens, and the door open to an evening breeze made the room seem almost humble. Almost like being at her home in the shrine on Sendai Hill; a fact which soothed her unease tremendously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, she’d learned to be comfortable spending so much time here. She’d learned to call this piano ‘hers’. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t hers, though. It was Nathaniel’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nathaniel bought it. Nathaniel kept it maintained. And it didn’t matter that he didn’t play piano, or that he’d bought it specifically for her, or that she was the only person who had ever used it. It wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>hers</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, if she said anything like that aloud he’d scold her. Makoto would inevitably hear them fighting, and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’d</span>
  </em>
  <span> get involved— </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if Rei told her broken instincts to go stuff themselves, she would remember that they were right, actually. She knew, somewhere beyond her buzzing nerves and rolling gut, that her friends—her actual family—enjoyed having her around. She belonged here. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted </span>
  </em>
  <span>here. If </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> called the piano hers, then she could, too. No matter how many bad memories of her deceased father and his asshole family were trying to convince her it was all a lie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even in death her father couldn’t just leave her alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Aren't they supposed to inform family before releasing details to the media?" Nathaniel asked. He hadn’t moved, either towards her or towards the laptop set on a cushion across the room, and therefore </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>looked up the details. He was guessing, but he didn’t really need to. They both knew the details </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> be there for all the world to find. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She fixed him with a look that meant both "You know they don't acknowledge me as family" and "You know damn well that's not how the media machine works." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of the four of them—Rei, her two adopted sisters, Makoto and Ami, and Nathaniel himself—he was the one who understood her father’s world the best. So while she couldn’t say with certainty that he read her meaning, the answering twist of his lips and scrunch of his brow implied that he did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her fingers brushed the keys again. She debated making an actual comment, but… no. No, she really just didn’t want to talk about it. Better to let tomorrow pass her by, unmarked. Tomorrow, and the upcoming weekend. Maybe, once Marcus had been interred, his family would return to ignoring her. There wouldn’t be any more reason for them to remember her existence, after all. And vice versa.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Speaking of verses… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I still don’t like that final stanza,” she announced, her voice once more finding purchase as she stared at the messy scrawl on the sheetmusic in front of her. “There're too many syllables; it's throwing off the beat.  Maybe...'Frozen tears…’ Nn... ‘tears like fallen….’ No. That’s worse.'" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she spoke, she began running through chords at seeming random until her fingers picked up the threads of the song they’d been working on for the past week. Though it had been a source of frustration, she was almost grateful for it’s reluctance to come together. She needed something to focus on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she played, her pulse settled to a normal tempo. and her breathing evened out. The frantic energy that had filled her was settling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So of course that was when Nathaniel grabbed her cellphone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Invading your privacy,” he said, swiping it open without trouble. Somehow, he’d learned how to unlock her phone. By the time Rei was on her feet, he’d tapped the email attachment and skimmed the flight details. “This leaves tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei’s bare feet struck a staccato beat against the floor as she marched over to snatch the phone from his hand.  Arms akimbo, Rei glowered down at her business partner, collaborator, sometimes-friend, and betrayer.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she could start the well-deserved tirade, a slapping of bare, wet feet on wood alerted them to the incoming storm.  Both adults looked up as a stark naked, sodding wet toddler came screaming in from the veranda. “Aunt Rei!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei dropped her phone again as she bent to catch the child leaping for arms that hadn’t been extended.  She managed, barely, and toted the girl up onto her hip. “Tomori! You are supposed to be in your jammies.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No jammies!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, we can see that.  Not a single stitch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tomori giggled and buried her chubby, toddler hands in Rei’s hair.  Anyone else would have had their hands slapped for such an offense. Tomori got a free pass, however annoying it was. She hefted the girl a little more securely onto her hip as another set of footsteps proceeded a huffing, puffing Makoto standing in the doorway.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You slippery little fish,” Makoto chided, an edge of amusement softening the reprimand.  She stalked toward her daughter, who shrieked and buried her face against Rei’s shoulder in an attempt to hide from Makoto’s outreaching hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No jammies!!” the toddler howled.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come now,” Makoto tried, her voice light and reasonable by sheer force of will.  “I got you! That’s our deal, right? If I catch you, you put on your jammies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nooooo!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> am certainly going to put my jammies on,” said Rei, giving Makoto a conspiratorial glance.  “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>my jammies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The toddler’s wriggling slowed to a stop as she looked hard at her aunt.  Makoto crossed her arms, clearly resisting an urge to scoop the toddler away when she was on the cusp of calming down.  “That sounds like a great idea. They are so cozy. I think I’m going to put on mine, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tomori’s gaze shifted to her mother, as though she sensed some kind of trap but wasn’t quite sure what it could be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aren’t they? I just adore mine, especially this time of year.” Rei was careful to keep her tone conversational as she valiantly resisted the urge to laugh.  She adjusted Tomori on her hip a bit—the girl was growing rapidly, becoming a good bit heavier every day—and raised both eyebrows at her niece. “You want to come with me, Tomo-chan? I need to get ready for bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The toddler whined suspiciously. Then she brightened,chirping, “Bedtime song?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei leaned in, settling her forehead against Tomori’s. In a stage-whisper, she offered, “I bet we can do that </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span> you put on your jammies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tomori’s cheeks puffed out in defiance, but she gave a sullen nod.  Rei straightened back up, turning her head so only Makoto and Nathaniel could see her wink at them.  “Tomo-chan and I are going to have a little jammie party. Does that work for everyone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Makoto said, shoulders sagging with a relief she’d never voice in front of her daughter.  To Tomori she said, “Goodnight angelfish,” and leaned in to kiss the child’s forehead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goodnight angelfish,” Nathaniel repeated in English—he still harboured hopes of her being bilingual—and reached up to gently grab and shake her foot.  Tomori giggled sharply, hiding her face against Rei’s soaked shoulder.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei nodded to them and left the workroom, chatting softly with the girl who was going to end up spoiled as a princess and praising her lucky stars that the toddler had come to her rescue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe Nathaniel would forget. And maybe her parents would rise from the dead.</span>
</p><h2>
  <span>###</span>
</h2>
<p>
  <span>“Are we feeling like dinosaurs or butterflies tonight?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“RAAAWWRR!!” The toddler made monster hands and bared her teeth as she stomped around the floor, scattering her hapless toys.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dinosaur it is,” Rei declared dryly as she fished the corresponding onesie from the dresser drawer. “Come here, Godzilla.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tomori roared again when she was lifted off her feet, but hit the bed with a giggle. She barely fought at all as Rei helped her into a pull up first, followed by the jumpsuit starting with her feet, then her arms, and a zipper up the middle. Finally, Rei tweaked the optional hoodie over Tomori’s head and roared softly back at the little “dinosaur.” This earned her a peal of laughter that lifted Rei’s tired spirits immensely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alone with Tomori she didn’t have to think about fathers, living or dead. Nor did she have to acknowledge the guilt leaving an acid taste in the back of her throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Song now?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei pulled the duvet back as Tomori climbed beneath it. “What do we say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Song now, please!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. What song should we sing?” The bed was wide enough Rei could sit comfortably to one side of the pillows, arm draped along the back of the headboard, as Tomori snuggled in. She’d never wanted children of her own—still didn’t, because while she was a fine aunt she would make a terrible parent—but being here with Tomori came with a peace the likes of which she was hard-pressed to find outside the Hikawa Shrine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She expected Tomori to ask for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sakura, Sakura</span>
  </em>
  <span> or—and it had taken a while for Rei to stop wincing over this one—</span>
  <em>
    <span>The Red Shoes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The girl had obsessed over both at varying periods, having seen them on YouTube or heard them on the playground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wasn’t prepared when Tomori piped, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kagome, Kagome</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kagome, Kagome</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Where did you hear that song?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Souta.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Souta-</span>
  <em>
    <span>kun</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Rei corrected automatically. She took a breath, held it, and let it go. “Alright. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kagome, Kagome</span>
  </em>
  <span> it is. Do you want </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gao-buuun</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tomori squealed in delight, bouncing enthusiastically while clapping her hands as Rei leaned over her to pluck the custom-made doll from the bedside. Tomori’s other adopted aunt, Ami, had made it for her last birthday; a plush tyrannosaurus rex with purple scales, pink spots, and felt butterfly wings in orange and green. The toddler hugged it to her like it was made of life itself, burrowed her way further into the pillows and looked at her aunt expectantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei adjusted herself so she could draw better breath. The song was very short, like many children’s songs. She knew a longer version, though, that wasn’t any more explicit than the playground variety Tomori was likely to have already heard from her playmates. It was just a combination of the variations that existed from region to region. That didn’t make the song, or it’s selection tonight, any less haunting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Kagome, Kagome</span>
  </em>
  <span>. No one knew the precise origin or meaning, but almost everyone had played the rhyming game at least once growing up. Children would form a circle on the playground, holding hands as they spun around another child standing or sitting at their center with a blindfold on. This child, called the “Oni,” would chant the song as the children spun around them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the last line was spoken, the children would stop spinning and the Oni would guess which person was behind them. If they guessed right, the two would exchange places and the game continued. It seemed innocent, if a little curious, on the face of things. Combined with the questionable language of the lyrics, however… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The most common variation was this: </span>
</p>
<p><em><span>Kagome kagome</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em> <em><span>Itsu itsu deyaru</span></em><em></em><span></span><br/>
 <em><span>Tsuru to kame ga subetta</span></em><em><span><br/>
</span></em> <em></em><span>Ushiro no shoumen daare</span></p>
<p>
  <span>There were many ways to interpret these words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kagome could mean a pregnant woman or a caged bird. It had also been a popular girls’ name in the 1980s, though the song pre-dated that fashion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Itsu itsu deyaru” was a more changeable statement fluctuating between “when will we meet,” or “when will/can it come out?”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That sounds fine, so far, but then there’s “Tsuru to kame ga subetta;” “The crane and the turtle slipped.” This seeming nonsequitur was consistent with poetic symbolism, and Rei agreed that interpretation was the most likely. The crane and turtle together had two common meanings: good fortune, or longevity. Their slipping was an upset of that balance. Misfortune; death.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, the line which called for the changing of the Oni: “Ushiro no shoumen daare.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Put simply, that meant “Who stands behind?” In the context of the game, it made sense as the Oni would then guess who stood behind them. However, there was a darker interpretation. “Ushiro no shoumen daare” could also mean “Who is my executioner?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A person trapped, waiting to meet the imminent death sneaking up behind them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tomori’s eyes fluttered closed and her breathing evened. The rhythmic sound melted with Rei’s absentminded humming. She barely noticed the encroaching darkness or the sound of footsteps approaching over hardwood floors. Her vision blurred, the light in the room slowly shifting from the magenta nightlight glow to a dingy silver, like moonlight through the rain. The patter of drops on the window confirmed her suspicion; the droplets slowly coming into focus as the footsteps trailed to a stop behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man’s voice is low and familiar, though Rei herself couldn’t name him. That was always the way of these visions when her subject knew the people involved though she herself did not. “Can’t you find another way? This is going to kill her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei lifted a wine glass to her lips, taking a longer than necessary sip to steady herself. The hand holding the wine glass was not her own. This hand was masculine, with manicured nails and a wedding band on his ring finger. But when she spoke, her voice was her own. “If you believe that, you don’t know her as well as you think. She’s a strong woman. She can handle this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voice behind her grew weak and resigned as they argued, “You’re wrong, Marcus. You know better. If you just thought about what you were doing, you’d see—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?</span>
  </em>
  <span> How she manipulates all of you? How she’s used us all in her games? Me, you, James. So many of us have given up our lives, our dreams, for her pride; </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> ideas of the future; </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>legacy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei turned from the window to find the room behind her empty. There was only a mirror, freestanding in a void, reflecting her father’s face. He was pale in the moonlight; paler than he was in life. Paler than her. Paler than death. She stepped toward the mirror, expecting him to do the same. Instead, his eyes grew wide. His chest began to heave, gagging, choking sounds filling the air until bubbling, dark liquid came surging from his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It cascaded down his front like a bloody waterfall, pooling at their feet and rising quickly. Rei tried to backpedal away, but strange fabric tangled around her feet and sent her tripping, backward into the pool. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She woke to Tomori screaming and her back smacking hard against the floor. Footsteps pounded up the hall, spilling Nathaniel and Makoto into the room. Their frightened eyes met Rei’s as Tomori wailed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It took several minutes to get Tomori calmed down enough to make sense. Apparently, Rei had fallen on top of her, waking the girl but not herself. Tomori was terrified to find her aunt’s eyes open and the woman unresponsive. And no small wonder. Rei hadn’t had an episode come on that strong in years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She managed to restrain her shaking until she’d assured Tomori she was okay, then left the girl to her parents. Down the hall, Rei braced her hands against the bathroom sink and concentrated on taking one shuddering breath after another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was just a ghost,” she told herself, over and over again, until she could believe that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was. Not an omen. Not a warning. Her father had clearly died a violent death; one he wasn’t happy with. Whatever the reason, that didn’t make it her problem. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she finally faced the mirror, Rei half expected to find his spectre lingering over her shoulder. Instead, she just found herself; moon-shaped face, stark black hair, and haggard, emotion-stained violet eyes. The dark shadows beneath her eyes were new, but not unexpected. Channeling the way she had, even accidentally, took a quick toll on her resources.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opened the faucet and splashed cold water on her face. Sleeping would be a better use of her time, but she doubted she’d be sleeping well any time soon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A knock sounded on the door as she reached for a hand towel. Makoto’s voice drifted hesitantly through the door. “Rei-chan? Would you like some cocoa?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. Though, if she wasn’t going to sleep, Rei welcomed the idea of something warm to soothe her raw nerves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A short while later Rei accepted a steaming mug from Makoto with mumbled, embarrassed thanks. Like most of her adopted sister’s culinary efforts, the drink was gourmet worthy; high-quality cocoa, heavy cream, espresso, and mint alongside other, esoteric things she couldn’t identify on smell alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it bad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Makoto’s brows were drawn tight in concern as she settled with her own mug next to Rei at the breakfast bar.  As she did, the cocoa sloshed over Makoto’s fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sloshed like wine in a glass. Like red liquid spilling down her father’s dress-shirt. Hitting the floor in waves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shudder ripped through Rei’s body. She pushed her mug aside so she could brace her elbows against the bar, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes and blocking out all light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei pulled herself together by bits and pieces as Makoto waited patiently by. If it had been a long time since Rei had been hit with a vision this strong and difficult to ignore, it had been even longer since Makoto had needed to talk her through one. Her gifts were usually more passive; a whiff of a secret someone was keeping, a nagging feeling that she ought to take an alternate route to the store, or a vague sensation of needing to get inside days before a strong storm. Knowing that her father was going to die days before he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was that why he was haunting her </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Why wait two weeks to show up?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Rei said when the images of blood-red water finally faded from her mind’s eye. “I didn’t mean to scare her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A warm hand rested on her shoulder. “Of course you didn’t. Neither of us would ever think that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” She took a steadying breath and finally dropped her hands. The smile she leveled at Makoto was forced, though Rei meant the words that came with it. “I know you wouldn’t, but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Makoto pressed her lips thin as she withdrew her hand and took another sip from her mug. “It was him, wasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei nodded. She reached for her cocoa, and paused with her hands wrapped around its warmth. Her jaw worked over voiceless words. She didn’t know what she was meant to think or feel about any of this, and so the words wouldn’t come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did… he want something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei’s laugh was startled and sour. “When doesn’t he want something? That’s the only reason he ever contacted me in life. Why should that change when he’s dead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though Makoto didn’t answer, Rei felt the disapproval radiating off her friend like the shaking of a house in a thunderstorm. Her chest tightened and her fingers squeezed knuckle-white around the mug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you don’t want to hear this, Rei—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then don’t say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was your father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When?” Rei snapped, frowning at Makoto. “When was he my father, exactly? When he sent my mother and I away because his family couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>deal</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her being a poor foreigner? When he demanded I attend a Catholic school because it looks better in American newspapers than my being a pagan heathen? When he had a private detective following me around, keeping tabs of all my friends so I didn’t associate with the ‘wrong people’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But whatever Makoto meant it didn’t matter. The words Rei had been searching for were found, and they weren’t going to be stopped. “You didn’t meet his approval, if you recall. I wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>allowed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to associate with an orphaned charity case. Or the bastard daughter of a sub-par artist. If he’d been around when Nathaniel showed up, I wouldn’t have been ‘allowed’ to associate with him, either. The only thing that man has ever done is try to control me and I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span> playing his games.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei’s chest heaved with pent up energy and emotion. She thought she might scream. Or run away. Or maybe just melt into the floor. Anything to get away from the knowing, solid stare of her best friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Makoto leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Rei, drawing her into a tight hug. Rei went resentfully at first, before all at once she folded her arms around her best friend and buried her face in Makoto’s long auburn hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sob welled within her throat, but Rei forced it back down. She wouldn’t play Marcus’ games, and she would </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> cry for him, either. No matter what he had gone through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Rei said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be,” was the immediate response. “You had a scare. And… you’re right about all of that. You don’t owe him anything, even if he was your father. But Rei…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Makoto sighed. “Nathan seems to think you’re going to skip the funeral.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei drew back, ready to start another tirade, but stopped when she saw the worry in Makoto’s eyes. “Wait—wait. Hear me out, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Rei’s nod, Makoto continued gently, “You know I don’t like—</span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> like Marcus.  I’m not saying you should go because you owe him anything, because you don’t.  Not him, and certainly not his family. You should go because you owe it to yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? To make certain the bastard’s in the ground? That’s the one thing I know is true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Makoto scoffed, shaking her head at Rei’s acerbic reply. She reached for her cocoa but paused with her fingers lightly tracing the rim of the mug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, the woman said, “Please consider this really carefully before you answer:  are you certain there won’t be a time—even twenty, thirty years down the road—you won’t look back at this and wish you’d gone?  There are some things we only have one chance at. You’ll never get another goodbye.” </span>
</p><h2>
  <span>###</span>
</h2><p>
  <span>Rei closed her eyes.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was lying in ‘her’ room unable to sleep however much it would be a good idea to rest. It wasn’t just the looming memory of her father’s ghost demanding her attention—condemning her for not wanting to attend his funeral, no doubt. For the first time in a long time, the fact that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>a room at her friend’s house was bothering her.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that it was shared between herself and Ami, and that it was technically still a “guest room” didn’t really matter. The closet and dresser held a wardrobe mixed between Rei and Ami’s tastes, their hair care and makeup products occupied the bathroom, and each one had left a few things—a blanket here, a picture there—over the past few years.  There were three other guest rooms in the mansion, and no one but the pair of them would ever use this one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had taken a lot of convincing to make Rei comfortable having a room in someone else's house.  Convincing </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>convenience; Maxfield manor was over two hours away from her home on Sendai Hill, making her and Nathaniel’s week-long writing benders inconvenient for one or both of them.  Ami agreed to share a room with her, rather than taking up both the rooms that had been offered to them. Then Tomori was born. After that, it just felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> to accommodate the new parents as best she could.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei had to admit, she enjoyed the feeling of family here.  She enjoyed feeling like she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>a family larger than herself and her grandfather.  Because she did. Her sisters might not have been born of her blood, but they </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> her sisters. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>better than blood; a fact Ami proved when she’d called right as Rei was getting ready to give up the pretense of sleeping and return to the workroom.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mako-chan’s right,” Ami said, as hesitant as someone handling a venomous snake.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is she?”  Rei wasn’t too sure about that.  “I know she means well—you both do—but she doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>understand</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words felt cruel, though they were only the truth.  Makoto was orphaned young. She’d lived in a foster home with ten other children until she’d grown old enough to live on her own.  While Makoto always swore she understood both Ami and Rei’s issues with their respective fathers, Rei knew there was a part of her friend that would always be a little envious as well.  After all, they’d had chances for reconciliation. Makoto never would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ami, bless her, didn’t point that out.  Instead, she said, “I’d go if it were my father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That wasn’t entirely surprising, Rei thought.  No matter that the man had run out on Ami and her mother when Ami was in junior high and old enough to truly understand what she was losing, Ami had always been the dutiful daughter where even that charlatan was concerned.  Still, Rei found herself asking, “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long pause.  Rei listened to Ami breathing over the connection and opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling above the bed.  Moonlight shone through the branches of the tree just outside her window, making the shadows dance.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Ami said, “Our situations aren’t the same, exactly.  I know that. But with my father… I’d want to know that I tried not to hold a grudge.  That I did my duty, even when he could not—would not—do his. I would know that no matter our circumstances, my mother raised me to be a better person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t say “a better person </span>
  <em>
    <span>than him</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” but the implication was so strong and adamant that Rei almost laughed.  Ami’s more passionate, vindictive side didn’t come across often, but Rei had seen it enough she wasn’t entirely surprised.  In some ways, it was freeing to hear her normally quiet, polite best friend say something scandalous.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it made her decision a little easier.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Rei said.  She didn’t care, exactly, what the Holdens might think of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  If hers were the only reputation at stake, she could stay in Japan with an easy heart and conscience.  But if she didn’t turn up, if she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>try</span>
  </em>
  <span>, her father’s family would definitely blame her lack of manners on her mother or grandfather. That couldn’t be tolerated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, when does the flight leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two, tomorrow.  I should have just enough time to get a few things from the shrine before heading to the airport.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about a passport?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember that thing Nathaniel’s been going on about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ami laughed softly.  “The show in New York?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.  He insisted on renewing my passport a few months ago, in an effort to get me to reconsider.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You let him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Nathaniel,” Rei groaned.  “‘Let’ is a very strong word. Still, it wasn’t like I ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to use it. And he was right, it’s coming in handy.  Even if I wish it weren’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ami hummed softly.  Something thumped on her end, like the sound of a book closing, and her mattress creaked.  “So you’re going then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Rei sighed.  “It seems I am.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tomori was not pleased with her aunt’s sudden departure despite, or perhaps because of, the previous night’s upset.  She clung to Rei’s neck, whining, until Makoto pried her loose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be back soon,” Rei promised and ‘tickle-monster’ed her sides until Tomori was squealing with laughter again.  The Maxfield’s driver, Fujihara, loaded her things into the backseat of their sleek imported car before opening the backdoor for her.  Rei stepped in, sliding her skirt beneath her with one practiced hand, and leaned toward the window to wave at Tomori until the car began winding its way down the drive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei had never been one for extended goodbyes.  She turned from the window as soon as she was out of Tomori’s sight, her sunny demeanor draining away like water after a storm.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several hours later she was still refusing to stare out a window, though the view from the plane showed a far grander landscape than the highway between the manor and city.  Part of Rei wanted desperately to gawk at the sea stretching out for miles beneath them, at the way the buildings faded to specs in the distance, and the lights that twinkled on far-off coastlines.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That urge was squashed by two things:  the distant but sharp memory of last time she’d been on an airplane, the same day she and her mother left the USA to never return, and the man in the seat beside her.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re brooding,” Nathaniel mused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pissed,” Rei replied.  She drummed her fingers absently on the arm of her seat, bolstering her defenses against the siren call of the windowpane.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel chuckled, not seeming to care about fighting in front of the flight attendants. And why should he? Not even their fellow passengers, few as they were, were paying them any mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin Holden had sprung another surprise on Rei, though if she’d taken the time to really examine her ticket she would have realized what had been about to happen once she reached the airport.  She gone in expecting to be flying coach; business, if he were being generous. After all, the man barely knew her. His technically being her “uncle” had never won her any special treatment before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei had argued when the airline attendants first directed her to the VIP lounge to wait on first-class boarding.  After triple checking there’d been no mistake, Rei settled in for what she thought was the most luxurious—if foreboding and awkward—trip she would ever take.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, she’d been in VIP lounges before—always at Nathaniel’s behest—but the international lounge was something else; all leather seats and crystal glasses and businessmen attempting to ply her favor with liquor she declined.  Then she’d boarded the plane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first class “seats” were actually plush recliners partitioned into individual compartments by real wood paneling.  At the head of the sectional, just across from Rei, was what looked to be a footstool with a flatscreen TV mounted above it.  A quick test with her seat’s LED controls and Rei learned the recliner could stretch out to meet the stool, forming a long, soft bed to sleep in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei had been trying to figure out what to do about a pillow when an all-too-familiar voice said, “It’s stored in the compartment behind you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Face burning hot, Rei sat up with a yelp and gaped at Nathaniel grinning down at her.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he said to the stewardess as he took the seat opposite the aisle from Rei.  The stewardess was too well trained to give either of them odd looks, but Rei thought she seemed more than slightly suspicious as she bowed and hurried quickly away.  As well she ought to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several hours and a re-adjusted seat later, Rei still didn’t understand why Nathaniel had shown up.  As Nathaniel laughed off her correction, she added, “How did you even get a seat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> cancellations.  Even if there weren’t, most first class seats don’t fill—not in the middle of the week. They adore last minute takers,” Nathaniel answered without pause.  He turned the page in his magazine, not bothering to look at her.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a private jet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My </span>
  <em>
    <span>father </span>
  </em>
  <span>has a private jet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funny how there’s never been a distinction before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My father’s private jet doesn’t have such witty company,” Nathaniel tried, finally throwing her a tired smile.  His shoulders slumped when he caught her steely expression. He sighed and put the magazine down. It was upside down, proving Rei’s guess that he hadn’t actually been reading it.  “They—</span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span>—didn’t think you’d get on the plane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei slumped back into her seat, closing her eyes.  She’d known it was going to be something like that, of course.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Before you get all in a knot thinking I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing this for you,” Nathaniel continued a trifle more defensively, “You might recall the show in New York.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei’s brow furrowed.  Though she’d been the one to remind Ami about it the night before, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> forgotten. It was funny, the things grief and exhaustion could do to you. “The exhibition.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The exhibition,” Nathaniel confirmed.  “You know the offer to help me host is still on the table”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei sighed, deigning to give him another side-long look.  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Silent</span>
  </em>
  <span> partner. That was our agreement, remember? My name isn’t on any published materials. I don’t do public appearances. I most certainly do not help you host one of the largest charity events in New York. More importantly, I thought the exhibition wasn’t for another three weeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I’m getting into the city a little early,” Nathaniel shrugged.  “It gives me time to work on a few other things and make sure the house is set up properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the inquisitive arch of Rei’s eyebrow, Nathaniel smiled thinly.  “We decided it was time to bring Tomori to the States. We’re a bit worried she’s not going to retain English very well without a more routine exposure.  It’s already causing an issue with my parents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was understandable, even if it bothered Rei on a deep, strange level where no rational explanation lived.  It was likely the twinge of annoyance had to do with her own situation, not her friends’; something she’d had to work at disassociating these past several years.  Nathaniel, for all that he was a wealthy American, born and bred, was not Marcus. Makoto was not Akemi. No matter how many parallels there were between their stories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, Rei truly hoped Nathaniel wasn’t like Marcus.  She liked Nathaniel. Hell, she loved him in a brotherly sort of way.  It would be a shame to have to murder him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Rei turned and let herself look out the window as much for the view as to hide a sudden welling of tears in her eyes.  “You should send her to Seisen. It will help. With her English, if little else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hated Seisen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hated it because my father chose it,” Rei said, with a slight shrug of one shoulder. It was still strange how much Nathaniel knew about her relationship with Marcus Holden. If Rei were being honest, it was odd Nathaniel knew so much about her in general.  But six years and two mutual best friends was quite a lot to share without getting to know a person. Much as she still had her hang-ups concerning his and Makoto’s relationship, Rei trusted him. She trusted him as she trusted her grandfather and no other men on this planet.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But the Sisters were nice,” she continued, “and the education’s good.  They don’t even shove Catholicism down your throat too hard, if you make sure they know better than to try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That earned her a scoff. “If you say so.  Still, not a bad idea. I’ll run it past Makoto.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a while there was silence.  Rei watched the landmasses slowly disappear and reappear as their route carried them across borders and over obstacles no human was meant to cross in mere hours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scenery began to blur as the sun faded.  People spoke in hushed tones across the cabin.  Dividers whirred closed and open and closed again.  The flight attendants moved through the rooms—yes, she was fine, thank you—and back into obscurity.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Against the dark background of the window, Rei’s face began to take shape, reflected back at her.  Like her niece, Rei had the good fortune to take after her mother. Her skin was pale as the moon, framed by raven-wing hair that currently fell into a long, sleek waterfall over one shoulder.  But her nose was longer than her mother’s, her eyes a little larger and—most damning of all—they were a bright, vibrant violet particular to the Holden line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she watched her reflection, hating every trace of her father’s influence, it rippled like water on a pond, becoming her mother’s in totality.  The woman smiled at her daughter with pain in her eyes. Behind her, brilliant orange and pink dawn streamed in the bedroom window, painting the bouquet of casablanca lilies left on her bedside table.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A skeletal hand slipped from beneath the blankets, shaking as it groped forward.  Rei tried to step forward, to give the comfort her mother so clearly needed, but she was rooted to the spot.  She watched as the effort overcame Akemi, her hand falling to dangle, limp and useless beside the bed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marcus,” Akemi whispered, a single tear trailing a crescent down her cheek, away from those beautiful, dim, unblinking eyes.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand touched her shoulder.  Rei screamed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately she clapped a hand over her mouth, staring in shock and dismay at the flight attendant hovering over her with a plastic smile.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, miss,” the attendant managed after an uncomfortable moment.  “The plane will be landing soon, I thought you might like time to prepare…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei blinked owlishly, still trying to catch her breath from the fright.  She shook her head in a way that clearly wasn’t any kind of answer and looked around the cabin.  Of the few passengers she could see, Nathaniel wasn’t the only one staring at her. Rei cleared her throat and smiled at the flight attendant.  “Thank you, um, for your consideration.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very welcome,” the woman replied with a consoling smile of her own.  “Can I get you anything? Water, perhaps?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That… that would be great, thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flight attendant nodded and headed off for her station.  Across the aisle, Nathaniel snickered. He grinned when Rei cast him an unamused glare.  “Come on. It was a little funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not for me,” she snapped and rolled her shoulders.  They were stiff from the long ride spent asleep in an awkward position.  Instantly, Rei was a little annoyed with herself for missing the majority of this rare experience and further annoyed that she cared.  She looked up and down the aisle a moment, finding the sign for the lavatory, and got up to relieve herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time she returned, the stewardess had come and gone.  She’d left a glass of water, a breakfast menu, and a customs form on the table beside Rei’s seat.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should try the eggs,” Nathaniel said when she’d set the menu aside and reached for the custom forms instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just slept through a fourteen hour flight,” Nathaniel replied, incredulous.  “You aren’t human if you aren’t hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then perhaps I’m not human,” Rei snapped.  She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face and falling back into the seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel shifted forward in his seat, bracing his elbows against his knees as he looked at her from across the aisle.  He put his hands together, twining his fingers beneath his chin as he said, slowly, “Rei, I’m just worried. We’re all worried.  The only things you’ve ever said about the Holdens have been—Well, I, unfortunately, </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>them. This can’t be easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” she admitted through her fingers.  Opening her eyes, Rei gave him another long look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d taken the flight far better than she; his long, chestnut hair was scooped into a ponytail, and the scruff on his chin was still in such perfect quality he’d either trimmed it earlier that morning or was unfairly gifted.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point before she’d woken, Nathaniel had changed from a business suit to simple jeans and a hoodie—the sort of fair she associated with him at home.  Generally, Nathaniel was meticulous about his public image.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Airport security,” he said, when he caught her eyeing the blue and orange baseball logo emblazoned across his chest.  “It’s easier on this end if you’re comfortable. What did you bring?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei dug under her seat for her onboard bag and sorted through it.  Though she had clothes at Maxfield Manor, she’d gone home to the temple to let her grandfather know what was happening and pick up a few things that seemed more suitable than what had been available in the guest room.  Perhaps those clothes—more casual and comfortable, down to the last stitch—would have been better options.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she thought about that brief stop, however, Rei frowned.  “If you were planning on showing up, why didn’t you just ride with me from the house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel arched a brow at her.  “Are we still having this conversation?” A silent beat later, he sighed.  “We’re still having this conversation. OK. I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>plan</span>
  </em>
  <span> this little tag-along venture.  Makoto and Ami thought it up after you’d already left and the bets started flying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave her a look that clearly meant “I won’t dignify that with a response,” and continued, “Since I was already intending on taking this trip—like I told you last night—they asked me to try and catch up.  It was spur-of-the-moment. I just grabbed my B.O.B. and hit the road.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bob</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s an acronym.  Bug Out Bag.” At her stare, Nathaniel grinned.  “You need to get in touch with your American heritage, Rei.  It’s a bag you make in advance for getting out of a situation quickly—generally used by survivalist nuts and conspiracy theorists.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Rei said slowly, “It’s an American custom to assume you’ll need to flee at a moment’s notice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh.”  Nathaniel held one hand up, waggling it back and forth for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.  I can see how my life was sorely lacking without this knowledge.”  Rei shook her head. She went back to digging through her carry-on bag, realizing as she did that the only article of clothing inside was a ratty sweater she’d brought in case the plane was cold.  She hadn’t considered how long the flight was, or how grubby and uncomfortable her jeans and blouse would be after a night sleeping in them. In her defense, she’d been a little pressed for time.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huffing with annoyance, Rei let the bag fall between her feet and tried to ignore Nathaniel’s grin as she bent over the small fold-out desk to fill in her customs form. </span>
</p><h2>
  <span>###</span>
</h2><p>
  <span>Loathe as Rei was to admit it, Nathaniel’s presence helped her keep a reign on her temper as they navigated the boring, overly complicated procession that was customs.  Was she carrying drugs? No. Did she have any guns? No. Was she smuggling a pet? No.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all ridiculous. Intentionally so, she felt. All the while, Rei kept catching herself glancing around the airport and out windows toward the ugly, urban sprawl of New York City waiting for… something.  She wasn’t entirely certain for what.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No.  No, that was a lie.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei wanted something to be familiar.  She wanted a spark of recognition or intuition that might shed light on what seemed like a perplexingly foreign place.  So far, there wasn’t anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And really, what should there have been?  A memory of a crying child being drug through an airport?  Rei couldn’t remember if she’d cried, or if she’d been happy, or confused, or terrified.  She couldn’t remember the plane ride or her mother’s reassurances, if there were any. Most of her life before Japan was like facts in a textbook; half-memorized and shelved for the very few times she’d needed a reference.  It wasn’t real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Excepting, of course, that it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might want to get your passport ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel’s voice was like a cattle prod.  Rei startled, blinked owlishly up at him, then scoffed in acknowledgment.  She opened the purse carried in the crux of her arm, steadying her rolling suitcase against her leg, as she pulled out both her passport and her U.S. ID.  Nathaniel’s eyebrows lifted by degrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catching the look, Rei said slowly, “Tomori is a dual citizen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he agreed, “But you’re supposed to choose by twenty-two.  We figured we’d let her make her own decision when the time came.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Supposed to,” Rei agreed carefully.  There’d been a time, early in her twenties, when she’d almost convinced herself to declare for Japan but something, some niggling worry, had kept her from doing it.  And then she’d been twenty-three and declaring late might cause trouble. Since then, Rei had simply kept her mouth shut and paid both sets of taxes with the utmost punctuality, like the majority of people in her situation. The USA allowed such dualities, and while Japan did not, the government was more or less happy to ignore rule breakers provided they kept out of trouble.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” Nathaniel replied, a calculating look spreading across his face.  He nodded to himself. Whatever he might have said next, however, was stopped when Rei reached the head of the line.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The questions were routine, though the customs agent seemed a little surprised at Rei’s citizenship.  Probably best not to question that, Rei decided, and stepped to the side to wait on Nathaniel. His interaction took notably less time, with a more perfunctory search through his belongings than hers.  Rei scowled, barely managing to keep her tongue by looking down the stairs toward the main lobby.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything in this place was a busy, confusing mess filled with people from all walks of life—not unlike Tokyo, she had to admit.  It was perhaps more diverse than she was used to, though not by much, and with a strong mix of languages flowing around her like a raging tide.  It was heady, and frightening, and Rei felt very much like running away. Too bad there wasn’t anywhere for her to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand touched her shoulder.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey!” Nathaniel said, blocking her fist with the ease of a long-time sparring partner.  “You’re gonna want to work on that, by the way. People are way more touchy here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lucky I didn’t break something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am so aware,” he agreed, and hoisted his travel bag over his shoulder.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Nathaniel on the plane had looked odd, now he just looked silly.  He’d kept his hair up and donned a pair of huge, coke-bottle sunglasses that were ridiculous indoors.  With the added baseball cap he’d stuffed his ponytail into, Rei would never have recognized him had they not deboarded together.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, she realized belatedly, he’d begun addressing her in English.  When had he switched?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flight, the nightmares, and the whole situation were beginning to wear on her.  Rei took a deep breath, and said in Japanese, “Are you expecting an ambush or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that,” Nathaniel agreed.  He jerked his head in a direction that, presumably, would lead them to an exit and began to walk.  With little other recourse, Rei followed him. “I’ll tell you more in the car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The car?”  Rei frowned.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, car.  Driving. There’s public transport, too, but I really don’t recommend it until you’re more used to the city.  It’s not the same as Tokyo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a complete moron.  I meant, why am I following you to a car?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel stopped, turning to face her before the perplexation drained from his face.  “Ah. That’s right. Martin was supposed to send someone to meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t a clue who, but…” Rei huffed, looking around at the sea of people again.  As expected, no one looked remotely familiar or like they were waiting on anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you staying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was a question Rei had been hoping to avoid. “I’m not sure, yet.  I meant to research hotels on the flight.” And then she’d fallen asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel nodded.  “You know we have a guest room—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nathaniel.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped, offering her a defeated smile.  He’d probably known she wasn’t going to listen, and had tried anyway.  Rei knew she should be grateful—she was, in her own way. At the same time… at the same time, it was all a bit much.  In Japan his generosity was one thing, particularly in his own home. It seemed easier there (which, she knew, wasn’t saying much.)  It also seemed private. Here, where Rei was increasingly aware that her father’s family or the paparazzi surrounding both the Holdens and the Maxfields could be observing them even now, it felt like something else altogether. Like inviting trouble, though she couldn’t be certain why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Rei said after a moment, accompanied by a short, polite bow.  “It’s really kind of you. But I think this is something I need to face on my own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded again, then paused with one finger in the air.  Letting his bag slide down one arm, Nathaniel dug in a side pocket a moment and fished out a slim, green-cased cell phone so covered in glitter and cartoon cupcakes Rei was mildly horrified.  She balked when he handed it to her, so he grabbed her hand and put the phone into it.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a loaner,” he said quickly.  “From Makoto. She uses this one when we’re in the States to avoid roaming charges.  She made sure it’s programmed with her usual number, and don’t worry about the international rates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unable to say much of anything, Rei nodded quickly and bobbed another short bow.  Nathaniel dropped her hand, and shouldered his bag. He gave her a lopsided grin, sighed, and looked around them for a moment.  “Alright. You want to do this on your own, I’ll back off. But if you need anything, or… just if you need </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t hesitate, OK?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“OK,” Rei agreed.  It was the best she could do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel hesitated another minute, eyeing her as though he was considering offering her a hug.  That was one habit he’d never managed to get out of his system, no matter how inappropriate it was in his chosen homeland.  Rei took a slight step backward, enough to dissuade him without making too sharp a point of it. He chuckled, offered her the slightest of bows, and loped off in the direction he’d been headed before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally alone in the crowded, foreign airport, Rei ignored the sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach and headed for the first bank of open seats she could see.  It was time to do a little research.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaysen Arlington had known something was wrong with Marcus, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was difficult to believe, even as Marcus’ headshot stared at him from the cover of every magazine on the newsstand outside their main office; flashed across the nightly news; was mounted in the office lobby beneath the sort of florid, floral wreath the man would have hated in life. People he’d known his entire life were paraded across talk shows and gossip rags, sobbing by the bucketful and dripping lies from their tongues. He couldn’t blame them for the last part; if it wasn’t socially acceptable to speak ill of the dead, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>certainly </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t speak ill of a mysteriously dead Senator. It just wasn’t done. Even if all of them had hated Marcus with every atom of their being when he was alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one bothered asking Jaysen his thoughts or feelings on the matter. Why would they? So far as most people knew—even those within the family—he and Marcus had rarely stood in the same room together. The idea that they’d been friends was laughable. The notion that he viewed Marcus almost like a father-figure would have been enough to send at least one of the old Aunties into fits. After all, Jaysen was “family,” but he wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>family</span>
  </em>
  <span>. How dare he be so presumptuous? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So far as the public was concerned, Jaysen Arlington wasn’t anyone of note. Just another pretty face appearing in the background at Holden parties and a footnote on half the company’s most recent success stories. It wasn’t like his projects were responsible for keeping the company afloat these past few years. It wasn’t as though his grandfather hadn’t been every bit as responsible for building the company as Maxine Holden herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James Arlington had sold out, and his family name got washed beneath the Holden’s rug along with his entire family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one cared what Jaysen thought about this farce. And if he was smart, he would keep it that way. For now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night they officially announced Marcus’ death, Jaysen pulled up at Kristof’s a little past nine, parked in the employee only space behind the bar, and spent a moment staring at the mirror on the back of the i9’s sun visor, trying to guess what the men inside would be expecting to see. Mournful family friend, or an employee going about business as usual?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last time he’d met these men, he’d more or less looked like himself: clean shaven, hair cut with just enough length to let it curl and give him some bounce, dressed in a sharp grey suit with a maroon silk undershirt and crimson-checked tie. Jaysen liked the colour and patterns; he thought it made him stand out in a world that was so often limited to shades of grey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the moment he looked like a blonde Johnny Cash impersonator. He’d slicked his hair back in lieu of cutting it, but he was still wearing the same black business suit he’d put on for the office that morning, black under shirt, black tie. All he needed was a pair of sunshades and a guitar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did Johnny Cash wear sunshades? He couldn’t remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The point was he didn’t look like himself and the nine-mile stare didn’t help. With a sigh, Jaysen popped his glovebox and fished out a small bottle of concealer. He dabbed the liquid over the bags under his eyes, and blended it with all the skill of a man trained by his sister. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he was done he looked a little less dead, at least. His red eyes could be blamed on insomnia, rather than grief, if necessary. It would have to do. He couldn’t flake out now. Whatever had happened to Marcus, whatever the man had been thinking or doing, he wouldn’t thank Jaysen for throwing this opportunity away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen threw the makeup back in his glove box, checked that his phone was in his breast pocket, and hit the back door of the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waved hello to a few of the kitchen workers as he passed through, grabbed the bottle of top-shelf wine he’d left here for the occasion, and shouldered his way into the main room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bar was already in high gear; crowded with dancing coeds, seats filled with regulars, and the bartenders slinging drinks with a speed matched only by a Detroit St. Patrick’s Day. Jaysen wove his way across the room with the grace of a man born to the social scene. He flashed a smile at the bouncer posted by a roped off back stair. The barrier was drawn back, and Jaysen thumped his way upstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kristof!” He crowed as he walked into the poker game already in progress, spreading his arms wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The establishment’s namesake and owner-on-paper stood from the table to embrace Jaysen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristof was not a small man. Though a few inches shorter than Jaysen, his broad shoulders and bulging biceps more than made up for the difference. Neither did he look much like an international business mogul with his full sleeve tattoos, side-shaved head and piercings. Bar owner? Yes. Metalhead? Sure. Multi-millionaire? Not a chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except that he, and at least half the people sitting at this table, were. That most of their money was probably ill-gotten was someone else’s problem. Then again, were there any rich people who could claim otherwise?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen managed not to flinch or stumble when Kristof let him go with a rousing slap to his back. The man snaked his arm around Jaysen’s shoulders, and gestured wide at the table. “Friends, you remember Jay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nods all around from the scattering of Kristof’s cousins. Most of them didn’t admit to speaking English, so he was greeted with several “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Zdravstvuyte</span>
  </em>
  <span>”s and one “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dobriy vecher</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He nodded to those who seemed the friendliest—read: the most willing to make eye contact—then sat in the chair next to Kristof when the man shoved him toward it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me see that,” Kristof said, taking the wine from Jaysen. He smirked at the label and passed it to a cousin who could have been his straight-laced twin.  “Here, Andriy, this, I think, is for you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Kristof’s raised eyebrow, Jaysen nodded and offered Andriy his most winning smile. “As I recall, you were bemoaning Kristof’s wine stock last I was here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s shit,” Andriy agreed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That got a laugh from the cousins and Kristof himself, who’d never been overly fond of formalities among friends. In business, sure. But this wasn’t business. This was a friendly poker game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another of the cousins dealt Jaysen a quick hand while Kristof passed over the chips he’d arranged to buy earlier that week. The game caught up to speed as a glass of amber liquor was set next to Jaysen, and a server from the front filled a wine glass for Andriy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen brought his glass to his lips, and barely hesitated before drinking. Scotch. Not his favorite under most circumstances, but for tonight it was, and he was sure to compliment Kristof on the vintage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few hands spent losing, though not </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> poorly, Andriy jerked his chin at Jaysen. “So, what is up with the Men In Black impersonation? Someone die?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Jaysen could respond, the man laughed and slapped the arm of the unnamed man next to him who quickly joined in the joke. That one wasn’t a cousin, but as Kristof had skipped any introductions Jaysen knew better than to ask. He could have been anyone from one of Andriy’s investors, to a favoured bodyguard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen affected a sheepish chuckle. “I assume you heard the news.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andriy tapped the side of his nose. “I understand it was being kept on the downlow,” he said with a sarcastic smile as he increased his bid on the current pot, “My condolences to the family, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be sure to carry that forward.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were not family, then? Kristof has told me it was—ah—</span>
  <em>
    <span>complicated</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hah! That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>certainly </span>
  </em>
  <span>one way to put it.” The words hung dripping with bitterness between them for a long moment as Jaysen tried desperately not to wince or stammer a walk-back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Putting that much emotion into a casual conversation was never a good idea with anyone. Ripping a giant, emotionally charged bandaid off in front of Andriy Petrov, the man whose billion-dollar contract Jaysen had been chasing for damned near two years, was potentially the dumbest thing he’d ever done in his life. This man wasn’t his counselor or friend. He was a mark. Jaysen needed to keep a lid on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristof came to his rescue with a laugh, and a slap to his shoulders. “Family, see?” He grinned at his cousin as he gripped Jaysen’s shoulder hard enough to stop the blood flow. “Doesn’t that tone just remind you of cousin Sergey?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which one?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the cousins laughed, so Jaysen did as well. He forced the tension from his shoulders as Kristof let up, and added a somewhat larger bet than he was comfortable with to the pot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Family is always complicated,” said Andriy in a philosophical, friendly manner as his eyes tracked the chips Jaysen was putting forward. He gave the slightest of nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite. Speaking of complicated, how’s the Bronx been treating you? I heard one of your apartments was having some trouble last week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t his smoothest seque, but Andriy cracked a smile and opened up at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rich people. They always loved talking about themselves.</span>
</p><h2>
  <span>###</span>
</h2><p>
  <span>By the time the night ended, Jaysen had a better idea of what was going on with Andriy’s landholdings, and knew he ought to feel sicker about it than he did. Kristof wasn’t looking terribly pleased about what they’d discussed, either. It was the cost of doing business. It was all just </span>
  <em>
    <span>business</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if he kept telling himself that maybe he would sleep tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristof offered him a lift home, but Jaysen wasn’t leaving the i9 in some parking lot. He was just tipsy enough to risk the DUI and drove himself back the handful of miles between the Queen’s based bar and his apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Kitchen still had a bad rap on TV, but in reality the area had been gentrified several decades back. Jaysen’s condo was in one of the newest built skyscrapers; designed by his own hand and built with Holden money. It had everything one could imagine, from multi-level residences on the top-most floors, to an in-house gym, olympic-sized pool, a sauna, three floors of exclusive shopping centers, and a ten-star restaurant. He knew several stay-at-home mothers in the building who literally never left the premises, and one ancient, wealthy-as-god agoraphobic widow who utilized the concierge service to have all her shopping hand delivered to her door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was almost a city in and of itself, and Jaysen privately patted himself on the back as he recalled that it also boasted a valet service. Sometimes he was too smart for his own good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled into the circle drive and stumbled as he exited the car. The man on duty was well into his fifties, with silver dusted hair and calluses that scraped Jaysen’s fingers when he took the i9’s keys. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Send ‘em up when you’ve parked her…” Jaysen blinked, trying to recall this man’s name. He knew him. He knew he knew him. Didn’t he </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Man, he should have skipped that last drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frank, sir,” said the valet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frank!” Jaysen slapped the man’s shoulder, dug what he thought was a twenty out of his pocket, and put it in Frank’s hand. “You’re a good one, Frank. You’ll put the cover over her, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always do, Mr. Arlington.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kiss her goodnight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s lips twisted around a smile. “I’ll do my best, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know what, here.” Jaysen dug out another bill and put it into Frank’s hand. Frank tried to protest but Jaysen shook his head and tutted. “No, no. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. For putting up with me. With all this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swept his hand to indicate the building; the rich assholes in the building; the city; the country, probably. Jaysen wasn’t entirely sure what he even meant by all that, except that he likely should have skipped the last </span>
  <em>
    <span>three </span>
  </em>
  <span>drinks. He patted Frank’s shoulder several more times before stumbling his way across the drive and through the glass doors as they parted for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking was so much harder than driving. Why couldn’t he live on the first floor? Then he could have just driven to bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Walls</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Walls were a thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t drive through walls, could he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The security guard watched him fumble with his elevator key for a good two minutes before he came over and helped, selecting Jaysen’s button for him and entering the password when Jaysen muttered it at him. The guard waved and shook his head as the doors closed. Similarly, Jaysen closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was facing his doorway at the end of a short foyer, with no idea how long he’d been slumped against the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Groaning, he stumped across the foyer and swiped his keycard through the door lock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The living room, kitchen, and entryway lights were all set to flip on as the door opened. From the entry way he had no trouble seeing the two-story, ceiling-to-floor windows that composed two of the living area’s walls, nor the man standing in the far corner, facing the Manhattan skyline. Jaysen paused with his shoes half kicked-off, blinking at the invader. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man was wearing a dark business suit, and holding a glass tumbler in one hand. His hair was dark and trimmed to military precision, and his free arm was pressed against the small of his back in a military-esque posture that belied the fact he’d never served a day in his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen swallowed. Marcus, screamed his every instinct. That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marcus</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elation filled him, and he stumbled over his own shoes in his hurry to enter the living room. He hit the floor with a crash, cussed, and used the couch to lever himself back up again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even glanced behind himself. Jaysen frowned, and that was when reality caught back up with him. Marcus was dead. This man </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>be Marcus. And if it wasn’t Marcus, then it could only be… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen cleared his throat and hastily straightened up, dusting himself off. Since the man’s back was turned, he slapped his own cheek briefly to try and sober himself up before saying, “Martin. I didn’t know you had a key. Or did Mina get you in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen glanced between the man and the open door behind him. The adrenaline in his system had cleared his head enough for him to realize the security guard hadn’t said anything about his sister worming her way up here again. Though he’d given orders against it, he understood better than most the unstoppable force Mina presented when she wanted something and chose not to hold it against the guards when they failed to prevent one of her dramatic entries—provided they gave him warning. If Mina had ‘let’ Martin up here the man at the door would have said something when he helped Jaysen into the elevator, assuming he hadn’t texted when it happened. Surely he wasn’t drunk enough to have missed that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen tugged his phone out of his pocket. There was a message from one of his assistant architects, but nothing from the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin still hadn’t said anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trying to ignore his growing unease, Jaysen slipped his jacket off and returned to the entryway. He shut the door and hung the jacket up, using the business of ‘coming home’ as an excuse to open the long-standing text chat with his sister. The last message was from a couple days ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He typed in “You know what’s up with Martin?” and waited. It wouldn’t take long. Mina might as well have her cellphone surgically implanted into her hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, the message marked as ‘read’ followed by ‘...’ a split second later.</span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><span>Hurricane Mina; 1:03am : </span> <span>Well his brother died</span><span><br/></span> <span>Hurricane Mina; 1:03am : </span> <span>in case u missed that</span><span><br/></span> <span>Hurricane Mina; 1:03am : </span> <span>Y?</span></p>
  <p><span>Me; 1:03am : </span> <span>Did you let him in?</span></p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>This time the pause was longer.</span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><span>Hurricane Mina; 1:04am : </span> <span>???</span></p>
  <p><span>Me; 1:04am : </span> <span>I didn’t give anyone a key to my place for a </span><span>reason, you know</span></p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>Another long pause. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen glanced back at Martin. The man was still watching the skyline, as though he belonged here. Like he wasn’t invading someone else’s place to creepily occupy corners like some hollywood jump scare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was getting a little too strange for comfort, even if Martin was technically the C.F.O. of the company Jaysen worked for, and the newly presumptive Holden-family “heir” now that Marcus had passed. There was being a dutiful employee and understanding “family” member, and then there was putting up with some truly glorious Holden bullshit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen started back across his living room when his phone buzzed, and he paused to look.</span>
</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><span>Hurricane Mina; 1:05am : </span> <span>Ha ha</span></p>
  <p><span>Me; 1:05am : </span> <span>Did you or didn’t you? I’m not playing, Mina.</span></p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>The phone vibrated, lighting up with a selfie of his sister in all her golden-haired radiance as inane pop music blasted into the room. Jaysen rolled his eyes. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with today, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been the one who texted her. He swiped the accept button and pressed the phone to his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I know Marcus’ death has been hard on all of us,” he said to both of them as he approached Martin. “And I have a guest room if you need it, Martin, but I really would have appreciated a heads—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jay, what are you on?” Mina’s tired, confused voice broke into his tirade even as Jaysen’s steps halted with a lurch. “Martin’s in Connecticut. I saw him downstairs, like, an hour ago? There’s no way he’s in Manhattan already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She continued speaking after that, but he wasn’t listening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen hadn’t noticed the problem from across the room, partially because the angle had been off and partially because he hadn’t been paying very close attention. He was too tipsy, still, and too annoyed at the presumptions of both his sister and the Holdens to look for something so subtle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t noticed the lack of reflection on the window. Specifically, the lack of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Martin</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s reflection. Jaysen himself reflected just fine, thanks to the lights and the darkness of the night beyond. Jaysen could see himself perfectly, as though there wasn’t a man standing directly in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Martin,” he said one more time, unable to voice the other name; the one that wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With trembling fingers, he reached for the man’s shoulder. Finally, the man moved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blood. There was so much blood. It burbled from Marcus’ mouth and ears and eyes in a grizzly cascade that covered the front of his suit and spread in a viscous pool across the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jadeite yelped, stumbled backward and fell on his ass, dropping his phone in the process. Distantly he could hear his sister yelling at him. He was more concerned with the warm, wet blood coating his hands and soaking into his pants. He scrambled away from the spectre of his friend as Marcus’ mouth opened further. Somehow, over the blood still pouring from his lips, Marcus screamed two words: </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s coming!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lights flickered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus was gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So was the blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mina’s voice could still be heard, tinny and distant from the cellphone’s tiny speaker. “Jay?! Jaysen Dietrich Arlington, if you don’t answer me I swear I’ll call Serena and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen scrabbled to pick the phone up and pressed it to his ear. “No! No, there’s no need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jay? What is going on?” Mina sounded more panicked than he was at this point. “You flip out saying Martin is there, when he’s not, and then you start screaming and dropping things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—” He swallowed, hard. “I don’t know. I think I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s coming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You screamed ‘she’s coming’. Who’s coming?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen’s gaze went back to the place where Marcus had been standing. He couldn’t process how Mina had heard that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unless… Unless she was being literal. Had </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> screamed that? Had the whole thing been one incredibly elaborate hallucination?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was a better explanation than any of the alternatives. Now that he’d thought about it, it actually made a lot of sense. Especially after… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kristof,” he groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Who</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Mina was starting to sound pissed, now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. No one. A friend, sort of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Okay, so this ‘Kristof’ is coming? Is that a girl’s name, now? Does she look like Martin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. No. I—erm—I was at a bar with Kristof earlier. He must have put something in my drink. Probably thought it was funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow.” Mina punctuated the dry statement with a slam of something on her end. “Sounds like a real asshole. Which definitely means he’s one of your friends. Have I ever told you what singular taste you have in companionship?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like that. He probably thought he was helping.” Jaysen levered himself off the floor and took another wary look around the living room. Nothing else seemed off, though. No other figures lurked in the corners. No trace of blood splatter lingered on the ridiculously expensive furniture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh. You okay? Do I need to schedule you a ‘private health retreat’? I’m sure Madame will </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> that right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And there it is,” Jaysen muttered. He picked his way over to the kitchen to fill a water glass, figuring he should drink at least one before he tried sleeping. Maybe two, all considered. “It’s always about what </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> thinks, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is when her </span>
  <em>
    <span>son</span>
  </em>
  <span> just </span>
  <em>
    <span>died</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Mina snapped. “Can we not have this fight again? Please? It’s too damn late for this, and I have to drive back to the city tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? It’s not like you have an actual job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you get a job?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mina huffed in annoyance. “I’m picking someone up from the airport.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen scowled at his water glass, though he wasn’t sure why. “What happened to Guillermo? Or are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>officially</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Holden taxi service, now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear to God, I’m going to strangle you. Just because I choose to do them favours—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Because they ‘choose’ to pay your credit card bills—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—that doesn’t make me their </span>
  <em>
    <span>servant</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We’re family. I help family out. Obviously. I mean, look who was here to talk you through losing your shit because your sleazeball friends can’t be trusted—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Mina!” Jaysen groaned. His annoyance turned quickly to quiet laughter as she hummed her ‘you know I’m right’ tune. He didn’t know she was right. In fact, he thought she was wrapped around Maxine’s little finger. But she </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>right, in one regard: it was way too late to be re-hashing the same old argument. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need sleep,” Mina agreed. “See you at the funeral?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. See you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen set his phone on the counter and turned to lean against the sink. His gaze immediately fell to where the specter of Marcus had stood. The hallucination. That’s all it was--all it could have been. Just a hallucination. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had to be.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaysen squeezed his eyes closed and groaned. His head throbbed, his mouth tasted like ashes, and inane pop music was blasting his ear drums to pieces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blindly swatted in the general direction of the music, repeating the motion several times before his fingers found the phone and simultaneously knocked it off his nightstand. He groaned again. The music continued to play. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen laid there, half-heartedly debating fishing it off the floor. He continued debating until there was blessed, sudden silence. He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she’d take a hint—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I got a pocket, got a pocketful of sunshine~”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen drug his pillow over his head. He stayed there through three more sessions, growing more annoyed with each repetition until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He was awake. That’s all there was to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rubbing the grit and sleep from his eyes, Jaysen got up, swung his legs over the bedside and fished the phone out from under his bed. How it’d ended up there he didn’t know, or care. Phones just had a way of doing that it seemed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again the phone began to sing. He scowled, declined the call, scowled harder at the time, and threw the device on the bed before dragging himself to the bathroom. It was barely six in the morning, and Mina knew how late he’d been up. She could damn well wait for him to take a shower at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He exited the bathroom about thirty minutes later, towel wrapped around his waist and only mildly less aggravated. To his utter lack of surprise, Mina was standing in the bedroom doorway, leaning against the jamb and tapping one louboutin-clad toe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could I get dressed in private, maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mind answering your phone once in a while?” Though waspish, Mina obediently turned around to let him get dressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s six in the morning!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I answered at </span>
  <em>
    <span>one in the morning</span>
  </em>
  <span> for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and I went to bed at two, so maybe you can understand why a sudden wake-up call four hours later isn’t my favorite thing in the world,” he snapped back as the walk-in-closet rolled open and he stepped inside to find some underwear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mina was silent for several beats, while he wrangled on his boxers and trousers. Then, sounding somewhat more sheepish, she said, “I’m sorry, Jay. I know it was shitty, but I didn’t know what else to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Icey worry splashed through him at that tone of voice. He’d been too annoyed, and honestly still had too much of a headache, to properly consider why his sister was bothering him so early in the morning. Sure, Mina had a penchant toward melodrama and theatrics, but this was somewhat above her usual disregard for personal space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shirt in hand, he turned to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I--Mmm,” she hesitated. With her facing the living room, all he could really see of her was her long, voluminous blonde hair, but he thought he could hear the wince in her voice. “It’s--Well, you know how you’re always on about me getting a job?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grunted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My agent called me this morning; super early.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And he has a really great opportunity for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jay finished buttoning his shirt and paused before tucking it into his pants. Frowning, he leaned further out of the closet to get a better look at her. “So no one else died? No one’s in the ICU, even?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you always think that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re acting like this is an emergency. I’m happy you have a job offer, but what does that have to do with me? At this hour?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, first of all, six a.m. on a Friday is a completely normal time for people to be awake, </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> an office worker like you. Most people don’t do benders on a Thursday. Second… I need to be in Queens in like—” she turned around, lifting her phone to her face at the same time as she checked the time. “—Twenty minutes. If I’m not, my agent is going to kill me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want him to kill me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jay gave her a flat look as he straightened himself out and grabbed the wet towel off the floor. That got flung back into the bathroom. His maid would pick it up later, and probably give him another lecture about it, but Jay couldn’t feel bad about that right now. He turned on his sister, rolling his sleeve cuffs up as he thought. “What are you really after, Mina?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you last night. I’m supposed to pick someone up from the airport.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you think I’m going to play Holden errand boy just because you got some last minute casting call.” It wasn’t a question, though he’d phrased it as one on the thin hope she was going to ask for support after telling the Holdens where to stick it. Even though he knew as well as she did how bad an idea that would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mina puffed her cheeks out like an irritated squirrel and crossed her arms. She let the air out with a whoosh. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jay. I need this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoever it is can take a cab,” he said, pushing past her and heading for the kitchen. If he was going to deal with this, he needed coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did he even have coffee? When was the last time he went shopping?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span>, sure, but she may not even know where she’s going. And I’m not sure how good her English is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen frowned, both at his sister and the empty container where his coffee grounds should have been. They had been there; he could see the residue in the jar. He’d just used them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tossed the jar in the trash and rummaged through the pantry for a replacement, if there was one. “This is New York, Mina. Most of the cab drivers are at least bilingual. Surely if this VIP can navigate an airport, she can navigate herself to Connecticut. Or wherever she’s going. I assume it’s about the funeral?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is, but I think Martin wanted me to take her by the office, first. They’re having an early meeting this morning and he said something about taking us both to brunch, after. An icebreaker, of sorts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite himself, Jaysen was starting to get curious. He didn’t know of any foreign relatives off hand who would warrant such special treatment, especially ones who couldn’t be expected to know English. A business partner, maybe? Marcus had given up his seat at the corporation when he got into politics, so that didn’t seem terribly likely. It wasn’t impossible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, there was no more coffee. He’d have to stop at the shop downstairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I’ll bite. Who is this mystery person?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mina’s eyes were syly narrowed when he turned back to her; a small, dangerous smile creeping onto her lips. “Say you’ll pick her up and I’ll tell you. I know you don’t like family drama, but I have a sneaking suspicion you’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> interested. Actually, given the games you like to play, this could even be a favour to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at that. He always known Mina was far more shrewd than she let on. Still, he hadn’t thought anyone had noticed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mina—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jay</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said, in a distinctly mocking drawl, “I need to go. I’ve got--ugh. Fifteen minutes, now, and I can’t get another speeding ticket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, but she was right. There wasn’t time to delve into that now, and--and at the end of the day, he trusted her not to go running her mouth about his plans, whatever she might know. She may be flighty and presumptuous, but she was still his sister. His twin. She still loved him more than she loved the Holdens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hoped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he said, “Who—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mina screeched in excitement, all traces of the sly socialite gone as she bounced in place. Her keys materialized into her hands through some parlour trick he had never been able to figure out, and then she was bolting for the apartment door shouting: “I’ll text you when I’m on my way! The flight’s at JFK. It was in, like, an hour ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, if it was an hour ago, why—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door slammed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—Didn’t you just pick her up then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen took a deep breath and counted to ten. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This had better be worth it,” he told the coffee maker, before moving to collect his jacket, keys, and shoes. If this woman, whomever she was, had been waiting an hour already, she could wait long enough for him to get some damn coffee.</span>
</p><h2>
  <span>###</span>
</h2><p>
  <span>Jaysen was going to commit sororicide. Goodbye career, and car, and—and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, refusing to be distracted by the reality of how empty his life had become these past few years.  Maybe he should get a dog. Or a cat. Cats were easier, weren’t they? Dogs involved walking, poop collection, and attention.  Cats… well they still shit, but he thought it was maybe a bit cleaner and less time consuming. Then again, they also had a tendency to scratch furniture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A goldfish?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The point, he reminded himself, was that Mina was a menace. She’d texted him the name of his pickup eventually, and the number of the flight. She’d left out any description of his quarry. Jaysen, distracted by the name, had waited too long to ask for clarification. By the time he had, Mina was either dead from texting and driving, or sucking up to a casting director. Either way, he was walking around the JFK visitor pickup looking for a woman he had no clear description of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He could make a few very generalized guesses, couldn’t he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei Holden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaysen shook his head in wonder. That wasn’t a name he’d ever expected to hear. Somehow, even when he’d been thinking about overseas Holden family members, he hadn’t considered Rei. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No--not ‘somehow.’ Rei was possibly the only black mark on the family name; the only one living, anyway. Her name wasn’t just forgotten, it had been burned from the family tree along with her mother’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whether or not it was deserved was anyone’s guess. From the way Jaysen had heard it--through rumors and whispers, as no one dared mention either Akemi or Rei where Madame could hear them--Akemi had primarily been after Marcus’ money. She’d protested how much time Marcus spent on family projects, disrespected Madame in the family home, and generally didn’t get along with anyone. Not even Martin, which was sort of like saying you didn’t get along with a puppy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That led to a rather public ultimatum; he was going to choose her, or his family. He chose his family. They divorced, and she fled the country with her daughter. Marcus decided to leave well enough alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the family’s version of events, anyway. It had all happened before Jaysen and his sister had been informally adopted into the clan so he couldn’t say for himself. Still, he knew the Holdens. He knew their tactics, and their prejudices, and the way they treated people they’d already decided not to like. It wouldn’t surprise him if the story was alarmingly different from Akemi’s point of view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he ever thought would have the chance to ask. Akemi was dead--Marcus had told him that much, when he asked--and Rei refused to associate with the family. Jaysen had actually understood that much, on her part. She’d been a child, and whatever happened had to have been scarring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it all begged the question: what was she doing here, now? Sure, her father had died, but she’d never shown any interest in him before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And none of this introspection was helping him locate her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took another look around the waiting area outside her terminal, noting more than a few women of east asian descent. Jaysen thought Rei had taken after her mother, though he wasn’t entirely sure why or where he’d obtained that information. There weren’t any pictures of her in the Holden house, or in Marcus’ penthouse. Still, in his mind's eye he conjured for himself the image of a Japanese woman with dark hair and a long nose, rounded jaw and excellent cheekbones. She was a beauty, if a little cold and guarded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed more coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, there was a cafe in the corner, next to a small general store that probably sold paper and pens. After another scan of the waiting room, he decided to get himself another latte while he made a half-assed attempt at a sign. Once he had that, he’d wait another half-hour. If she didn’t appear by that point, well, he was done helping Holdens. Now, and forever.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>New York City was heinously expensive. Though the yen and the dollar were rather close in exchange rate, the cheapest hotel Rei could find in Manhattan itself cost roughly ¥11,000 a night. She had to stay until her flight left next Tuesday.  Five nights.  ¥55,000. Did that include taxes? Rei wasn’t sure. Vaguely, she thought she recalled Makoto complaining about the USA not including taxes in most list prices. Either way, she’d be spending at least a month’s rent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it wasn’t as though she couldn’t afford it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei may not have inherited any wealth, like Nathaniel did, but their business had grown considerably these past few years and she’d received her fair share. Sure, she’d thrown most of it into repairing the shrine and funding community programs, but that didn’t mean she’d be sweating the expense. Outside of those two investments, she lived modestly; well below her means, in fact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was only that she preferred to keep it that way. The idea of posting up in a luxurious hotel when there were just as good, more affordable alternatives seemed too close to something her father would do. It was something her father had done. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite how Akemi’s life had ended, Rei knew her grandfather offered Marcus a room at the shrine every time he’d come into Tokyo. He always declined. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he’d send around a car that Rei was expected to get into no matter what she’d been doing, and have it drive her to some posh, overly indulgent resort where Marcus’ loyal photography team could stage pictures of their “family bonding time” for his political website and facebook page. That stopped by the time she was in high school, but the memories were still solid and unwelcome.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Memories such as those of her father sitting at a breakfast table by a private pool, asking after her school work and trying to strike up a conversation. He’d seemed brusque at the time, but now she suddenly wondered if he’d felt just as awkward as she had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sudden heat flushed her face, stinging her eyes and clogging her throat. Rei blinked rapidly, trying to drive back the sensation before anyone noticed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not that there was anyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>to </span>
  </em>
  <span>notice. All the people around her were steadfastly focused on their own business, with very few people looking about at the others around them. Only a handful were actively scanning the crowd; mostly the sort who held signs bearing people’s names. Those came equipped with balloons and anticipatory patience. One man even had a bouquet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could probably have a full melt down right here and no one would care. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a relief, in a strange sort of way, to have such anonymity. Such a thing would never go unnoticed in Japan. No one would say anything, probably, but everyone would </span>
  <em>
    <span>notice</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not that Rei was going to break down. Not for him. Not over this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei tapped Makoto’s phone back to life and continued looking over the hotel listings. There were cheaper rooms in other boroughs, she saw. Unfortunately, anything more affordable either came with a slew of negative reviews, notes about bedbugs, or was fully booked. Either way, all of her choices would require her using the public transportation system Nathaniel had explicitly warned her against, or taxis. It wasn’t like she could drive. She’d never bothered with lessons, much less a license.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But what else was she going to do? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neither the email from yesterday nor the follow-up she’d received half-an-hour ago detailing who would pick her up had indicated any expectations on his part as to her accommodations, or transport outside of a single pick-up. It would be easy to assume he intended to talk to her about that after this “Mina” dropped her off at his office. Rei wasn’t sure that was a conversation she wanted to have, however. She’d been willing to use the ticket he’d already purchased for her. She was willing to be picked up by someone he trusted, this once. But the idea that they had rented some hotel room on her behalf was a little much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Worse, they might think she expected to stay with one of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei would rather be haunted by Marcus’ angry spirit the rest of her life than stay a single night in one of her relatives’ residences. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hotel it was. Damn the expense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei pulled Martin’s email back up, copied the address to his office, and plugged it into the map she’d been using. She found the nearest hotel with a price she could stomach, then called the number. In short order, she was booked for a modest room spanning the long weekend. Item number one, down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Item number two… Rei glanced at the time, then around the room again. She hadn’t seen anyone with her name on a poster board, and she’d been sitting here the better part of two hours. While there were certainly several blond women standing about the room, most of them either had luggage with them, or decidedly did not match the loose description of “Mina,” who was supposed to be short, with thigh-length blonde hair and big blue eyes; “dressed to the nines,” he’d said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei tapped her heel on the ground as she debated calling her uncle. There was probably traffic to consider, if the stories about New York held any validity. Or maybe this person was always perpetually late. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or maybe this had all been some weird Holden ‘prank.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was ridiculous and Rei knew it. There was a prank, and then there was sadism. While she might have low expectations of the Holdens, going this far to bully someone they barely knew seemed a little much. Besides, what she remembered of her Uncle Martin said that he was among the better of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then again, what did she know? She’d only met him… once? Twice, since she’d left the country? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, she wasn’t going to call Nathaniel to pick her up after he’d only just left. That was silly, and there were other ways for her to get out of here on her own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subways and buses didn’t seem so hard, but even as Rei thought that she also reminded herself that Nathaniel wouldn’t have told her to avoid them without cause.  Cabs, then. Or… what was it? That German service… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei shook her head. Standing up, she collected her carry on and rolling suitcase, and scanned the room until she located the help desk. Rei set out in that direction, easily matching the no-nonsense pace of the New Yorkers around her. If no one was going to show up for her, she’d damn well show up by herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was just thinking this as she passed a recessed store next to the coffee shop, and a man stepped out directly in her path. Rei plowed into him. Hot coffee smashed between them as they collided, swaying together for one terrible moment as Rei thought they would hit the floor. Then the man caught himself on a table, knocking displayed items to the floor, and stabilizing them both.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei lurched backward, shaking her drenched hands, and holding her blouse out away from herself until the burning stopped. The man swiped both his hands down his soaked button-up, wrinkling his nose at the mess, the last dregs of his coffee spilt across the tile, and the paper now soaking it all up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Care to watch where you’re going?” he snapped. “You could have hurt someone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me?” Rei asked, incredulous. “If you hadn’t had your nose to the ground, maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> wouldn’t have stepped in front of </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The least you could do is apologize. Or all New Yorkers this rude?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t realize this was the autobahn,” he started in a tone that was anything but consolatory, and finally looked at her. His eyes went unexpectedly wide, and his mouth worked over whatever other venom he was about to spew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei had seen that look in the eyes of other men. It was the “oh damn, I’ve made an ass of myself and she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot</span>
  </em>
  <span>” look. She swore that if he hit on her, she was going to hit him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t bother,” she said, before he could recover himself. In the most acidically sweet tone she could manage, Rei threw a smile on her face and said, “I’m sorry about your coffee. Now move on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She dodged around him, resisting the urge to fan her shirt in a vain attempt to dry it as she sped even faster toward the help desk. The sooner she could get out of here, the sooner she could get into something that didn’t reek of coffee and way too much flavoured creamer. What was that? Hazelnut? Or worse, </span>
  <em>
    <span>caramel</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Ugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Behind her, she heard someone shout, “Hey! Are you gonna pay for that?” and the man snap something in return. Good. Whatever was going on might keep him from following her. Maybe that shouldn’t be a real concern, but it had happened before. It seemed more likely to happen here and now, actually, if only because she was already having a bad day. The negative tended to attract negative, so far as Rei was concerned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reached the help desk without further incident and the ladies there were happy to help her, especially given her obviously jet lagged and frumpy state. They quickly explained the finer points of hailing a cab, and directed her to the pick-up station where cabbies liked to hang out looking for fares. Rei thanked them and was halfway out the door before she heard the footsteps behind her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hair at the back of her neck rose on end. It might not be him, but her intuition said it was, and she didn’t dare look behind her to check. Instead, she made a bee-line for the nearest cab with a clearly lit medallion, yanked the door open, stuffed her suitcase in, and slammed the door behind her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heard a disgruntled voice shout “REI HOLDEN?” at the same time she said to the utterly unperturbed cabbie, “Do you know the Archer Hotel?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He with you, miss?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei glanced outside her window where the stranger with the coffee-stained shirt was glaring and mouthing something at her in lieu of causing a bigger scene. She shook her head, both at the cabbie, the man, and herself. Hadn’t she warned herself only a short time ago about potential paparazzi? He didn’t have a camera that she could see, but in this day and age that didn’t amount to much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. I don’t know him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As you say.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cabbie pulled away from the curb, and Rei—unable to help herself—twisted in her seat to watch as the stranger cussed loudly enough to elicit glares from several pedestrians, and pulled a phone from his pants pocket.</span>
</p>
<h2>
  <span>###</span>
</h2>
<p>
  <span>The Archer hotel was a stately brick building sandwiched between more of the same, with a green glass awning draped over it’s front entryway. The inside was lined in wood, with wood screens and great wooden columns holding the space aloft. Behind the concierge's desk looked to be a charming in-house restaurant and bar. Sure, it was a little opulent, but Rei instantly felt better about her decision now that she’d seen the place for herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She paid the cabbie, and walked in to an incredulous stare from the concierge. The mirror backing his desk instantly told her why. She was covered in coffee, her bra was showing through her once-white blouse, and she hadn’t been able to brush her hair properly on the plane. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve had a very long morning,” Rei said by way of introduction. “I believe I have a reservation under Rei Holden?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A spark of recognition blossomed in the concierge's eyes at her name. His attitude instantly changed, though he still gave her the quick up-and-down of someone not sure if he was being lied to, or if they were making a false connection. It tested Rei’s ability to pull off her usual, unflappable stare when all she wanted to do was flinch. She hadn’t gone by her legal name in years, preferring to be known by her mother’s maiden name, “Hino,” when legalities weren’t an issue. Holden was the name on all her IDs and credit cards, however, and since changing her name would inevitably ding her less-than-completely-legal residential status in Japan she had never tried. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, yes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ms</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Holden? I believe I have it here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei nodded vaguely, and passed over her ID and credit card when the man asked for them. A few minutes later she had a keycard, and was graciously shown to the elevators by a bellhop who kept giving her side-long glances. It was clear he wanted to ask a question, and Rei projected “Do not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span>” at him as hard as she could until the elevator doors closed around her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was only there she relaxed, and reminded herself to breathe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room was nice. It held a singular queen-sized bed, overstuffed and piled with plump pillows and a silk comforter; a large wardrobe, a dresser with a flat-screen TV, and a well appointed ensuite bathroom that boasted a tub almost deep enough for proper soaking. The last part practically made up for everything else that had happened so far. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei dumped her bags at the foot of the bed, and stripped down for a quick shower. Once she was clean, she started a bath running and found Makoto’s cellphone. Thankfully, it used the same charger as hers, and she brought them both in with her to the tub. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Twenty minutes,” she told herself, “Then you have to go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the warm water felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> good. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the tension finally ran out of her shoulders, she picked the phone up and did a quick check of her time zone calculations. It was just after ten in the morning, meaning it was getting late, in Japan. Close to midnight. She wasn’t going to risk waking up her sisters. Instead, she texted Nathaniel to let him know she’d made it out of the airport. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The reply was refreshingly quick.</span>
</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><span>Nate; 9:57a.m.:</span> <span>Figure out where you’re staying?</span></p>
  <p><span>Rei; 9:57a.m.:</span> <span>The Archer. Heard of it?</span></p>
  <p><span>Nate; 9:57a.m.:</span> <span>I’m familiar. Restaurant’s great.</span></p>
  <p><span>Nate; 9:57a.m.:</span> <span>What’s your itinerary look like?</span></p>
  <p><span>Rei; 9:58am:</span> <span>I haven’t made it to the office yet.</span></p>
  <p><span>Nate; 9:59a.m.:</span> <span>I feel like I should question that. Should I question that?</span></p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>Rei sighed, lowering her chin in the water as she considered long and hard. Nathaniel wouldn’t like that they’d slighted her this way. Rei didn’t like it either, obviously. But did she need him turning into a white knight about it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No.</span>
</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><span>Rei; 10:01a.m.: </span> <span>I’m fine. I just took a detour because some jackass spilled his coffee on me at the airport, and I wanted to get cleaned up. </span></p>
  <p><span>Nate; 10:01a.m.:</span> <span>Welcome to NYC</span></p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>Speaking of that jackass… He’d known her name. Paparazzi, she’d thought then, and that did make a sick sort of sense combined with the reaction from the concierge and bellhop. Rei swallowed. Though she’d acknowledged the possibility of paparazzi in the airport, she hadn’t been allowing herself to think too hard about what she was walking into for a reason. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There had been some reports about her in the gossip papers when she was a kid. They ran up until she put her foot down about it during her last year in Junior High. That final incident... Had they dug all that up again after Marcus’ death? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From what little she knew of American politics, it seemed likely. Too likely. Sucking in a deep breath, she steeled herself to ask though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Better to rip the bandaid off now. </span>
</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><span>Rei; 10:05a.m.:</span> <span>How big is Marcus’ death playing, here?</span></p>
  <p>
    <span>The other line was quiet for a very long time. Rei was considering calling him, to better explain why she’d asked, when the phone vibrated with a new message.</span>
  </p>
  <p><span>Nate; 10:12a.m.:</span> <span>He was a senator, Rei.</span></p>
  <p><span>Rei; 10:12a.m.:</span> <span>So it’s big, is what you’re saying.</span></p>
  <p><span>Nate; 10:12a.m.:</span> <span>Yeah. Very.</span></p>
  <p><span>Rei; 10:13a.m.:</span> <span>Knowing how this sounds, what’s the likelihood of them digging into me?</span></p>
  <p><span>Nate; 10:13a.m.:</span> <span>Pretty high, though I haven’t seen it yet. More likely after the funeral, unless you plan to announce your presence to the morning shows before that.</span></p>
  <p><span>Nate; 10:13a.m.:</span> <span>Why?</span></p>
  <p><span>Rei; 10:14a.m.:</span> <span>Coffee Guy knew my name. Tried to follow me out of the airport.</span></p>
  <p><span>Nate; 10:14a.m.:</span> <span>I’ll pay whatever you owe on the room if you want to come here.</span></p>
  <p><span>Rei; 10:14a.m.:</span> <span>That isn’t why I was asking.</span></p>
  <p><span>Nate; 10:15a.m.:</span> <span>I know.</span></p>
  <p><span>Rei; 10:15a.m.:</span> <span>And I’m fine. I just wanted to be sure I wasn’t crazy. Or paranoid.</span></p>
  <p><span>Nate; 10:15a.m.:</span> <span>You’re both, but not without reason.</span></p>
  <p><span>Nate; 10:16a.m.:</span> <span>The offer’s still open.</span></p>
  <p><span>Rei; 10:16a.m.:</span> <span>Ha ha. Thank you. I should probably get to the office, now.</span></p>
  <p><span>Nate; 10:17a.m.:</span> <span>K  I’m heading into a meeting, but I’m here. TTFN</span></p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>Rei chuckled, shaking her head at the old acronym. Who still used that? She had been right, though. She needed to get out of the bath before she pruned, and render herself respectable enough to deal with her uncle. And, potentially, the paparazzi.</span>
</p>
<h2>
  <span>###</span>
</h2>
<p>
  <span>Respectability, as it turned out, didn’t take terribly long. The hardest part had been drying her hair, which was thick, voluminous and prone to retaining water as long as it possibly could. In the end, she’d bundled it into a loose up-do at the back of her head, left a few artful locks down to frame her face, and thanked her lucky stars that she’d remembered to pack a hair straightener. She’d need it after this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some freshly applied make-up, a simple black sheath dress, hose, and pair of pumps later, she looked like she was on her way to a funeral. Which, technically, she wasn’t at the moment. Unfortunately, Rei had forgotten to pack anything other than black clothes, some underwear, sleep wear, a single pair of yoga pants. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she’d been packing, all she had been thinking about was “What’s appropriate for an American funeral?” As her experience of such things was limited to what she’d gleaned from movies where the mourning women always seemed to wear black dresses, the range of potential daywear in her suitcase was slim. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Add a shopping spree to the growing list of unplanned expenses this trip was quickly accumulating. It would have to come later, though; after this meeting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had the concierge call another taxi for her, deciding against walking when she didn’t know the area and had already been tailed by one stranger that day. Soon enough, she was standing on the curb outside the mirror-walled, towering edifice that housed the Holden Industrial Enterprises corporate offices. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei’s knowledge of H.I.E. 's business doings was fairly limited. She’d gleaned a few things over the years from both Marcus, and Nathaniel. They’d begun as an architectural firm in the 1960s. That was still the core of the business, which put them in direct competition with Nathaniel’s family. Over the past several decades, however, they’d swallowed several smaller firms across a dozen countries, and bought several chains of home-improvement stores, construction companies, and rental properties. They were broaching the line of a mega-corp, and their home office looked every inch the part.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stared at the building, and her father’s face stared back. Through the glass doors, the easle they’d erected bearing his blown-up photograph was clearly visible from the street. It was the same face that was plastered all over a nearby newsstand. Of course it was. The only thing that ought to be surprising about it was that this was the first she’d seen of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then again, she hadn’t really been paying attention in the airport, had she?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei relaxed her fingers where they were strangling the strap of her purse. She took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and marched through the flow of foot-traffic straight into the mouth of the beast.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lobby held a fair number of professional looking people milling around. They were holding professional accessories, and wearing crisp, professional suits. A professional woman at the front desk gave her a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> professional smile and said in a sterile, professional voice, “May I help you with something, Miss?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d probably noticed Rei staring at the building for several minutes. It would have been difficult not to, from her position.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here to see Mr. Holden.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific…?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei gestured to the easel. “Given that one of them is dead, I don’t see how.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a choking noise behind her. Rei refused to look. She had no interest in the shock or scandal written across the crowd’s professional faces. The receptionist’s expression was far more than enough.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sounding like someone had implied baby kicking ought to be an olympic sport, the woman sputtered, “I beg your pardon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here to see Martin Holden,” Rei explained slowly, unsure how that was so difficult to process. After a beat she added, “Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid President Holden isn’t available for walk-ins. You’ll need to schedule an appointment with his office.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you know I </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> have an appointment?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman’s lips thinned, and her gaze flicked over Rei’s utterly respectable appearance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Okay, so her hair was still noticeably damp, and she hadn’t wasted more time on her make-up than strictly necessary. Perhaps ‘respectable’ was pushing it. Particularly given the peacocks filling the lobby.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei mimicked the woman’s smile almost without deciding to do it. She gestured to an elevator bank just behind the desk. “How about I take this off your hands, and ask with </span>
  <em>
    <span>his office</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead? I’ll just need the floor number.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll need a security badge to go any further into the building.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then, I suggest you call his office and ask whether or not he has time for his </span>
  <em>
    <span>niece</span>
  </em>
  <span> today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The receptionist actually laughed. “Mr. Holden’s niece is thirteen, Miss, and I’ve known her her entire life.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Obviously, I did not mean the thirteen-year-old.” Rei was losing what little remained of her patience with the day, the situation—hell, this entire country. “I’m his </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> niece. Rei?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman’s smile grew overtly sarcastic, losing any pretense that might have remained of professionalism. Well, this at least answered Rei’s question of whether or not anyone had started peppering </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> face through the local gossip rags. If they had, she doubted anyone in the Holden offices would be giving her this hard of a time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss, I think it’s time for you to move on. I’ve been at this job too long to let such stories past my desk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I think it’s time for you to do your </span>
  <em>
    <span>job </span>
  </em>
  <span>and call Martin’s office to confirm with them. Or I’ll call him myself, and you can explain to him why I’m being held up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go right ahead, young lady.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling the glitter-and-cupcakes phone from her bag undermined the power move a trifle, but Rei did it anyway. She found the email with her uncle’s contact details and surprised herself by actually hoping he would answer his phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It went to voicemail. Of course it did. He didn’t know her number, and wouldn’t expect her to call from a state-side phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The self-important amusement glittering in the receptionist’s eyes was enough to make Rei stuff Makoto’s phone away, and then pull out her own. It took a moment for her to boot it up again, and another moment for the signal to tick over from “none” to “roaming.” She gritted her teeth about the expense, before repeating the same process. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, the line clicked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Martin speaking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei flashed the receptionist a feral grin. In a distant way, she was almost glad for the woman’s hostility. It lent Rei the irritation she needed to blow past her own mental barriers about what to say to this man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Uncle Martin. Sorry to bother you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rei!” He sounded surprised, but not offended or scandalized. “I was beginning to worry. Mina hasn't texted me this morning. Did she find you alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm. Could we talk about that in a minute? I’m down in the lobby. The receptionist says I need an appointment to come up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should have a security badge waiting for you. Nancy sent it down this morning.” He honestly sounded puzzled. “Listen, I have a little while left in this meeting, but I’ll have Nancy come down and sort things out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused, then added, “I’m glad you came.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei’s grin slipped, as her eyes once again began to sting. She blinked that way, nodding, and reinforced her smile as best she could. “Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slipping her phone back into her purse, Rei found the receptionist staring at her with a look of barely contained impatience and concern. “There are other people who need my attention, Ms.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a moment—” Rei took a second to glance pointedly at the woman’s name tag. It was a mean move, and she didn’t regret it in the least. “—Daphne.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daphne’s smile thinned even further. Half-a-minute later, a slim woman with short, shockingly red hair exited the elevator wearing a black dress similar enough to Rei’s that she didn’t feel quite as lacking as Daphne implied. The woman glanced around, her eyes wide behind large, thick-rimmed glasses, and ruby-red lips puckered in thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she spotted Rei she grinned and came trotting over. Her voice was melodic, with a surprisingly strong southern belle drawl. “Ms. Holden, I am so sorry for the mix-up. I could have sworn I left your badge at the desk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t think that’s the problem at all. Is it, Daphne?” Rei asked, quite happy to see the woman’s mouth drop open. It was, perhaps, a little mean of her. She couldn’t be bothered to care.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ignoring Rei’s jab, Nancy stepped around Daphne to the far side of the long, curved desk and rifled through the contents of a small black box. She pulled a security pass on a short, silver-bead chain from the stack. “In fact, here it is! Crisis averted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed.” Rei accepted the badge when it was passed to her. Unsure of what else to do with it, she clipped it around the strap of her purse, noticing as she did that the photo printed on it’s shining surface was one of her highschool graduation pictures. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Where the hell did they get that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t I show you the way to Mr. Holden’s office? It’s your first time visiting, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nancy’s question was perky, completely devoid of any of Daphne’s attitude or suspicion. When Rei met her eyes, the woman practically sparkled with innocence. It was either a very good act, or she was genuinely a good person. Normally, Rei might have erred on the side of caution, given who Nancy spent her days around. Not this time. She’d already made enough enemies today, and didn’t care to snub a friendly face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The first time I can remember,” Rei said, honestly. “Thank you for your help. I appreciate it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not at all,” Nancy replied, waving the thanks away like it didn’t matter. She led the way past Daphne, who still sat frozen in alarm and surprise, to the elevators. The one she’d used was still waiting. They stepped inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nancy tapped the eleventh floor. The doors were halfway closed when someone shouted, “Nancy! Catch the door?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instantly, the woman tapped the ‘door open’ button as footsteps thudded closer on the lobby tile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rei’s stomach bottomed out in warning an instant before the man’s face was revealed on the other side. The stranger was tall and blonde, with a square, clean-shaven jaw and shockingly blue eyes. And unlike all the other men she’d seen in the lobby, he was wearing grey instead of black, with a blue button-up and a purple tie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was quite a change from when she’d seen him this morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coffee Guy stared at her. She stared at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nancy, caught between the two, nervously piped, “Um. Hi, Jaysen. Have you two met?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaysen stews over the embarrassing scene at the airport only to run face-to-face with Rei again at the office!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If it weren’t for the coffee soaking into his skin, Jaysen might have decided he’d imagined the whole thing. He still wasn’t certain he hadn’t. </p><p>Running into people wasn’t that uncommon, and there was certainly nothing special about people being rude in an airport, much less New York City. What he hadn’t been expecting was for the woman who’d run into him to look <em> precisely </em> like the one he’d imagined only a few minutes before. </p><p>Exactly as before, except for one tiny, incredibly significant detail: her eyes. Violet eyes. <em> Maxine’s </em>eyes. </p><p>There’d been no doubt in his mind that this was Rei Holden, but for the first time in a long time he’d been rendered completely speechless.</p><p>She wasn’t pretty. Well, no, that was a lie. She was damned gorgeous, or would have been if she hadn’t been clearly jet-lagged, in rumpled and dripping clothes, and scowling. Beauty took a back seat to the simple <em> presence </em> of her, however. Standing next to her was like standing beside a blazing bonfire on a cool summer’s night. </p><p>He’d never believed in auras or portents or any of that charlantan stuff. A few seconds in her presence nearly changed his mind.</p><p>And then she’d left. The spell broke, and the store clerk was blaming him for a few items that had broken when they’d fallen from the table he bumped into. A few sharp words, and an eventual swipe of his credit card to smooth the scene over, he followed Rei’s path out of the airport just in time to see her get into a cab. </p><p>She’d looked at him when he called her name. Then the cab pulled out, and she was away into the city. He had made this whole fucking trip for nothing.</p><p>Mina answered on the third ring. </p><p>“Oh my god, Jay, I got the part!!!” Her squeal was loud enough he had to hold the phone at arms length while the ringing in his ears died. </p><p>“Just like that?”</p><p>“What do you mean ‘<em> just like that’ </em>? I’ve been working my butt off trying to land a good role. Literally! I don’t spend half my day in the gym for nothing.” </p><p>“<span>Ever think you might have had better luck if you’d spent less time at the gym and more time on acting classes?</span>”</p><p>“Wow,” Mina drawled, all the excitement leaching from her voice. “What’s the matter? Rei wasn’t hot enough for you to seduce into doing your dirty work? Or does she just know a snake when she sees one?”</p><p>Again, Rei’s face flashed into Jaysen’s mind; pretty red lips, striking violet eyes, incredible, dark hair that framed her face. It looked a little mussed, like she’d just woken up. </p><p>Her looks definitely weren’t an issue. </p><p>“Did you tell Martin there was a change of plans? Or Rei? Or, hell, anyone who was actually in contact with her?”</p><p>“What? No. Why?”</p><p>Jaysen rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Well, that explains a lot. She left.”</p><p>“Are you sure? I mean—oh shit, I didn’t even send you her picture.”</p><p>“You had a—” Jaysen cut himself off before he started cursing, and dug his keys from his back pocket. He was almost back to his car, which was sitting in a stupidly expensive parking lot he never should have needed to pay for. “She was here. I saw her. And I’m not surprised, now, that she got into a cab rather than stay and talk to the random asshole shouting her name from across the room if no one told her to expect me.”</p><p>Mina made a soft, whining noise before bursting into laughter.</p><p>“This isn’t funny.”</p><p>“I’m sorry! It’s not. But it kind of is. Damn. I’m <em> sorry </em>, Jay. Seriously. I’m sorry I woke you up, and I’m sorry I forgot to tell Martin. I was just super, duper distracted and worried this morning, and everything became a clusterfuck.”</p><p>It always did. Jay waited until his phone connected with the car’s bluetooth, throwing Mina’s continued laughter onto the speakers, then tossed the phone into the passenger seat and shucked off his jacket and shirt. There wasn’t anywhere <em> great </em> to put them. Everything in the car was leather, and he didn’t want it getting wet. </p><p>After a moment, he wadded up all the cloth and set it on the passenger-side floor mat. He’d have to get it detailed again, just to be sure. </p><p>“I’ll make it up to you,” she whined in a cajoling tone. “We can go out to that sushi place you like, my treat?”</p><p>“You mean the Holdens’ treat? Pass.”</p><p>“How can you be so snotty about it? You work for them, too.”</p><p>“Yes. ‘Work.’ As in, I put in sixty to eighty hours a week, and have landed them multi-million dollar accounts, the results of which I’ve only ever seen a fraction of.” </p><p>“You could always go out on your own.”</p><p>“Sure. I could launch a small, start up firm that will <em> absolutely </em> compete head-on with H.I.E. <em> and </em> Noah. We won’t get crushed or bought out within a handful of years. That absolutely is <em> not </em> how either of those companies work. They <em> love </em> competition; especially from people who used to work for them.” </p><p>Jaysen shook his head. There was a lot more to it, of course, including the fact that he shouldn’t <em> have </em> to do any of that. H.I.E. might have Maxine’s name on it, but the company was just as much the product of the Arlingtons’ ingenuity. More, in many regards. </p><p>None of the Holdens, not even Maxine herself, had gone into actual architecture. They didn’t know what it was to design a project from the ground-up. To stay up entire nights running the math on load capacity, or triple checking your ADA compliance, or tracking down just the right shade of marble tile to match the structure in your dreams, or carjoling Stuart Semple to sell you vats of his Pinkest Pink paint pigment to use on a project that Anish Kapoor had <em> technically </em> touched. </p><p>Ok, so that last one had been a half-dream, half-nightmare he’d had after some particularly bad street tacos. The point was, Jaysen didn’t believe that people who only viewed the firm as a means of leaving an undeserved “legacy” should be calling the shots; turning down jobs left and right because they didn’t carry enough “prestige.” Neither should they be harassing him to cut corners, and upcharge for lower-grade material than what he originally spec’d for a project just because it improved their bottom line. Both issues, contradictory as they could be, were hurting the company’s reputation and, by extent, Jayson’s. But so long as the money kept rolling in, no one else seemed to care. </p><p>It was just business, he kept telling himself, over and over again. It was always and ever ‘just’ business.</p><p>“Well, not with that attitude,” Mina quipped, though her voice had softened dramatically. Maybe she had seen his point. “It’ll be <em> my </em> treat, okay? Just as soon as I get my first paycheque. Promise. You’ll see, Jay. This is it. This is my break. I just <em> know </em>it.”</p><p>She sounded so earnest and excited that Jaysen didn’t have it in himself to naysay her again. He swallowed a sigh and put the i9 into reverse. “So, tell me about it. What’s the gig?”</p><h2>###</h2><p>He went home, took another shower, changed, and finally arrived at the office just about the time everyone was leaving for lunch. That wasn’t unusual. Jaysen was well known to pull strange hours; often working well past midnight either on or off premises, or out wining and dining clients. </p><p>Honestly, he’d considered not coming in at all. He really didn’t want to risk another run-in with Rei, and working from home wasn’t out of the question. Then Mamoru texted him, claiming there was some kind of issue with the pending Brooklyn project. Whatever it was, he hadn’t wanted to explain over the phone. Jaysen privately translated that to “another client bites the dust,” and resigned himself to the trip.</p><p>Unfortunately, he’d worn out his stock of black clothing and the maid hadn’t been by yet to do the laundry. It couldn’t be helped. He’d just have to look properly remorseful if anyone called him on his lack of mourning attire. He combed his hair out with his fingers, checked his tie, and smoked half a cigarette as he jay-walked across the street from the firm’s parking complex. </p><p>He entered the lobby to find it teeming with black-clad coworkers, all a-buzz with oddly subdued gossip. Behind the reception desk, Daphne was turning an interesting shade of red. Though strange, Jaysen really just didn’t care. If whatever had happened was either important or particularly salacious he’d undoubtedly hear all about it by the time he got upstairs. </p><p>His attention focused on the red-head entering an elevator behind the desk. “Nancy! Catch the door?”</p><p>She must have heard him. As he rounded the desk to the elevator bank, the doors were reversing to let him in. </p><p>“Thanks, I—” He began, and stopped when the same sense of <em> presence </em> hit him with the force of a mack truck. </p><p>He’d been right the first time; Rei was <em> gorgeous </em>. Her hair was a little damp, and her make up was way too light by the standards of all the other women in his life—or in the office, for that matter—and somehow that only made her stand out all the more. </p><p>But it was those eyes, those <em> Holden </em> eyes, that had him stuck, no longer quite sure where he was or what was going on.</p><p>“Um. Hi, Jaysen,” Nancy chirped. Her eyebrows drew together in a worried knot. “Have you two met?”</p><p>“Met is a bit of an overstatement,” he said, coming back to himself in an instant. “Ah, I can catch the next one up.”</p><p>“Why would you?” Rei’s voice surprised him. Sure, they’d technically spoken only a few hours ago, but he’d been more focused on the coffee down his front and his own annoyance than the timbre of her voice. He was ashamed to say he expected something airy and light, based on her appearance, and instead was confronted with a soft, droll alto that was pleasant when she wasn’t biting his head off. “We’re going up. There’s plenty of space.”</p><p>“A fair point. And you aren’t armed with any coffee, so my shirt should be safe this time,” he agreed, and forced himself to step through the doors into the small space. </p><p>Rei immediately stepped away, shuffling to the corner behind Nancy. </p><p>“That coffee was yours.”</p><p>“Oh, I remember.” A flash of irritation shot through him, there and gone so fast he wasn’t quite sure that it belonged to him. That thought didn’t make any sense, though, and neither did holding on to anger over a small bump-in. It was just a shirt, and a misunderstanding. “Look, can we agree that we ran into each other and shit happens? No harm, no foul.”</p><p>Those eyes narrowed by the slightest of degrees; thinking; calculating. She may not have been raised by them, but he could already tell this girl was a Holden in every way that mattered. That was just <em> fantastic </em>, wasn’t it?</p><p>Finally, Rei nodded. “Sure.” Then, a beat later, she surprised him by adding, “<em> You </em> were supposed to pick me up, weren’t you?”</p><p>Jaysen sighed. “You were expecting Mina, right?”</p><p>She nodded again.</p><p>“Mina is my kid sister.” Technically, Mina was his twin, and half-an-hour older than him. Everyone assumed she was the younger one, though, and Jaysen thought it fit. He cleared his throat, looking away from those unflinching, unfathomable eyes. “She was supposed to pick you up, but something came up last minute and she asked me to fill in. Then forgot to tell you, or Martin. I’m sorry for that. I… realized after the fact what it must have looked like.”</p><p>The bonfire of her presence suddenly simmered out. He looked back to find Rei standing a little straighter, a little taller—though she barely came up to his collar bones—and that the corners of her mouth were lifted in what could very graciously be deemed a ‘smile.’ </p><p>“And I’m sorry you went through the trouble. I should have told Martin not to bother anyone, anyway. I can navigate a city on my own.”</p><p>“So it would seem.” He glanced again at the dress, and hairdo, and it finally occurred to him that a couple hours had passed since the airport but she was only just arriving. </p><p>She didn’t miss a beat. “I didn’t think it would do to show up sopping wet and reeking of overpriced latte. I can only imagine what <em> ‘Daphne’ </em>would have been like if she’d been staring at my bra while telling me to get lost.”</p><p>“She didn’t!”</p><p>They both jumped, suddenly realizing that Nancy was still in the elevator with them. Her mouth was set in a firm, no-nonsense line as she stared at Rei, waiting for an answer. </p><p>The doors dinged open behind her, but Nancy didn’t pay them any mind. Jaysen put his hand out to keep them from closing as he watched this.</p><p>Rei recovered quickly, all considered. “Not in so many words, no.” </p><p>“Ms. Holden, if she slighted you in any way—”</p><p>“Rei.” Her voice was firm, but came with the faintest flinch after the fact. More gently, she continued, “Please, just call me Rei. And I’d really rather it not go any further than it already has. I’m sure Daphne won’t be making the same mistake twice.”</p><p>“If you insist,” Nancy said, sounding incredibly dubious though she was professional enough not to show it on her face. No small wonder. The Holdens were notorious for wanting to be addressed ‘properly.’ They didn’t do informality; not in public. “Please, follow me. Jaysen, it was lovely seeing you.”</p><p>He nodded to them both as they stepped out of the elevator. Nancy pranced, hips swaying faintly, across the executive lobby toward Martin’s door, and Rei followed more cautiously in her wake. </p><p>As the elevator doors closed again, he thought he saw her turn briefly back to look at him.</p><h2>###</h2><p>By the time Jaysen had ridden back down to his proper floor, grabbed a coffee and sandwich from the kitchen, and made his way to his team’s workspace in the southeast corner office, he’d realized a few important things. First, he’d been wrong; Rei was not just <em> any </em> Holden. Second, he had no idea what she wanted, or why she was here. Third, everything about her screamed of not <em> wanting </em>to be here. And finally, that he didn’t know what to think about any of it. </p><p>It wasn’t just her insistence on being called by her first name, but in the way she carried herself, and the quiet amusement with which she’d mentioned her incident with Daphne. He tried to remember who had been downstairs when he arrived. Maybe he could find out what had happened, exactly.</p><p>Mamoru and Zach were alone in the room when he walked in. They were set up at the round table in the back corner, lunches splayed out in between laptops, print-outs, and a number of calculators, rulers, and other tools of the trade. </p><p>“Mm—finally,” Zach said around a mouthful of kimchi. He kicked one of the empty chairs out from under the table, waving Jaysen into it. “What took you so long?”</p><p>“It’s a long story. What’s wrong with Brooklyn?”</p><p>Without a word, or even glancing up from his laptop, Mamoru grabbed a file and thrust it toward Jaysen. He took it automatically, setting his still-wrapped sandwich on the table as he sat down. </p><p>The file was normal looking from the outset; just one of the standard manila folders every office used. Still, he had the worst feeling…</p><p>One glance at the letter just inside was enough to confirm it. He still read every line twice. When he was done, he dropped the folder back on the table as he stood up. </p><p>“It’s done, man,” Zach said. “You can’t fix this.”</p><p>Jaysen shoved his hands into his hair, letting them gather at the nape of his neck. He paced to the end of the room and turned to trace his steps. Back and forth as his co-workers—and friends. They were still friends, technically, he reminded himself—watched him. </p><p>Zach was more open about it, as always. The strawberry-blonde settled back in his chair, craning his neck backward to follow Jaysen’s path. It didn’t look comfortable, but Zach had always had a habit of bending himself into weird, uncomfortable positions that he swore up and down were perfectly natural. He produced a cherry red twizzler from somewhere and stuck it in his mouth as he waited.</p><p>Across the table, Mamoru was ostensibly staring at his laptop. Jaysen knew better. He could feel the coolness of Mamoru’s regard like the first hint of a fall breeze through the heat of summer. </p><p>While Jaysen and Zach had been friends throughout childhood, Mamoru was a fairly new addition, both to their group and to the extended “Holden” family. He was also one of the rare, truly unconnected hires in H.I.E. No one had vouched for him, or known who he was, but when Jaysen saw his resume in the stack for an assistant architect he’d just had a <em> feeling </em>. </p><p>The same sort of feeling he’d had in the airport, actually. And the elevator.</p><p>His steps dwindled to a halt. He stared out the window without really seeing anything. His mind’s eye was filled with the memory of violet eyes, and his skin trembled with fire. </p><p>A bag of potato chips hit his face. Jaysen startled, and found Zach bouncing a personal-sized bag of BBQ Lays in one hand, preparing for a second shot. “Earth to Jaysen? Are we gonna talk about this, or are you just checking out?”</p><p>“Didn’t you just say I can’t fix it?” </p><p>“Yeah. I always say that. And then you somehow prove me wrong, like, mm. What would you say?” He tipped his head at Mamoru. “Seven times outta ten?”</p><p>“At least.” Mamoru twisted in his seat to face Jaysen. “My sources say they’ve already signed a contract with the Maxfields, though.”</p><p>Jaysen swore lightly, and scrubbed a hand over his face. </p><p>“You’ve gotta talk to her, dude.”</p><p>“We’ve been over this. Maxine doesn’t listen to me. Or anyone, apparently.”</p><p>Zach threw up his hands. The chip bag flew off into the work space behind him. “It’s the third contract she’s refused this month. What exactly is ‘lacking in prestige’ about a four-star restaurant chain?”</p><p>“The part where ‘chain’ is attached,” Mamoru said, dryly. </p><p>“It’s not a church,” said Jaysen. “Or a library, or a museum, or a monolithic apartment complex for the super elite. Take your pick. You know how she gets.”</p><p>“I know how you two say she gets,” Zach corrected. “Never met her, remember?”</p><p>Mamoru and Jayson both grunted. Then Jaysen turned to Mamoru. “How’s Serena doing?”</p><p>“That depends.” Mamoru sat back in his chair, slinging an arm over the back of it as he studied Jaysen. “Are you actually asking about <em> her </em>, or about that thing you’ve been  planning?”</p><p>Immediately, Jaysen felt like a bit of a heel. He’d been thinking primarily of the plan; Serena was the linchpin in the whole idea, but she’d been balking. Mamoru was trying to talk her around when the news about Marcus blind-sided them all. As always, Mamoru had seen straight through him. </p><p>Jaysen squeezed the back of his neck and looked briefly apologetic. “How’re the wedding plans going?”</p><p>Mamoru sighed. “They aren’t.”</p><p>Zach’s tone was light, but his green eyes were dark with concern when he asked, “Trouble in paradise?”</p><p>“It isn’t like that. We’re fine. It’s—well. Madame is taking Marcus’ death hard, and you know how Serena is. She’s spent the whole week in Connecticut trying to get Madame to talk to her. And she wants to delay the wedding.”</p><p>Jaysen let out a rush of air as Zach pulled both his legs up into his seat like a damn bullfrog, and leaned between them to stare exaggeratedly at Mamoru. </p><p>“Seriously? She does realize this isn’t, like, Victorian England or whatever, right? We don’t have three-month periods of mourning.”</p><p>“To Madame’s credit, she told Serena the same thing. Not in those exact words, but…” Mamoru spread his hands in a ‘what can you do’ fashion. “Serena isn’t having any of it. Even if that means losing our deposit on the country club, and waiting another year for an open date at the cathedral.”</p><p>“No offense, but this <em> is </em>Serena we’re talking about,” Jaysen said, slowly. “She’ll change her mind after the funeral, and things calm down.”</p><p>Mamoru nodded loosely. Then he turned that cool, knowing gaze on Jaysen in full. “I haven’t dared bring it up right now. If I do…”</p><p>“If you do, she’ll put her foot down and never budge on it,” Jaysen filled in. If she was that upset on Maxine’s behalf already, Serena would only see them pushing the issue as them wanting her to “betray” her friend. That’s certainly how Maxine would see it. And, if he were being honest with himself, Jaysen would have to admit there was even truth to it.</p><p>“Besides, with Marcus gone… Are we still doing this? <em> Can </em>we still do this?”</p><p>Jaysen pressed his lips into a firm line, then nodded. “There were contingencies,” he said. “But until I’d rather keep the specifics to myself until I’m sure they’ll come through.”</p><p>“Should we start calling you James Bond?” Zach smirked. </p><p>“More like Lex Luthor,” drawled Mamoru.</p><p>Jaysen scoffed. “If I’m a villain, what does that make you?”</p><p>“Oh, man,” Zach slapped the table. “That reminds me! Did you know Marcus has a daughter?”</p><p>Mamoru looked genuinely surprised, but Jaysen could only sigh. “Rei? Yeah.”</p><p>Both of them turned to him. Zach slurped up the last of his twizzler as he said, “Wait, seriously?” </p><p>Jaysen shrugged. “She’s old news, technically. Left with her mother when she was, mm, six or seven, I think, and hasn’t been back to the States since. Why do you think she’s a villain?”</p><p>“Daphne was blowing up the chat server a minute ago. From the way she tells it, the woman’s a grade-A bitch.” </p><p>Jaysen frowned. He wasn’t sure why he felt the sudden need to defend someone he’d only just met—especially a person he’d had similar thoughts about—but still the words came flying out of his mouth. “Daphne isn’t much better on a good day. You know she blows things out of proportion.”</p><p>Zach’s eyebrows raised in slow unison; a hint of a smile creeping onto his face. “Oh, is that how it is?”</p><p>Jaysen shook his head. “Why does everyone act like I’m going to jump this woman? I barely know her, and I’m not that much of a man-whore.”</p><p>“Yes, you are,” both his friends said in eerie unison. Jaysen scoffed and unwrapped his neglected sandwich. </p><p>“Besides, who’s everyone?” asked Zach as Mamoru returned to his laptop, and began typing. </p><p>“You two, Mina, and I’m pretty sure Nancy was giving me the stink-eye when she was showing Rei up to Martin’s office.”</p><p>“Nancy has decent instincts,” said Mamoru, “She never slept with you.”</p><p>“You two really enjoy playing with fire, don’t you?”</p><p>Zach snickered. “Like you’re gonna do anything, boss. Don’t forget we have blackmail for <em> days </em>.”</p><p>“Besides, this is one woman you don’t want to piss off,” Mamoru added. He turned his laptop around. Displayed there was an article, fifteen-odd years old, archived in the society pages of <em> The Times </em>. At the very top, a photograph of a much younger version of Rei glared fiercely at the camera; eyes snapping in obvious fury. </p><p>The headline read, “Mayor’s Daughter Assaults Reporter.”</p><p>Zach whistled as Jaysen skimmed what he could see of the first few paragraphs. He didn’t need to, really. Now that he’d seen the picture, he remembered hearing about this. He’d been in high school, but he was close enough with the Holden family that any little incident involving them got to his ears eventually.</p><p>This was the reason they'd started whispering about her and Akemi again, after all that time. Rei had broken the arm of a photographer who’d been stalking her outside her school. According to her—and the Japanese police report—the two had become embroiled in an argument after she’d asked him to stop, and he’d refused. The man grabbed her arm to prevent her from leaving, purportedly begging her for an interview in exchange for his promise to go away. Instead, Rei snapped his arm. </p><p>Back then, he’d agreed with the rest of the family that the reporter had gone a little far, but so had she. Remembering the fire of her presence he had to wonder: had they been right, or wrong?</p><p>“Oh man, this is exactly what this week needed,” Zach said with a tremor of a laugh underscoring the twinkle in his eyes. He gesticulated widely, throwing both hands up like a billboard. “Full scale Holden drama, tonight at ten.”</p><p>Jaysen tore his gaze away from the laptop. “What makes you think there’s going to be drama?” </p><p>“Man, I don’t know. Crazy, clearly estranged daughter shows up right after her father has a super-mysterious death at sea with millions of dollars left to his estate?”</p><p>Jaysen snorted around a mouthful of sandwich. He used the bite he was chewing to cover for his silence as he digested that. Mamoru pulled his laptop back to himself and continued doing… something. Whatever it was that Mamoru usually did. Jaysen rarely bothered asking; the man could be playing video games or watching porn for all he cared. No matter what it was he got up to, Mamoru always produced results. That was all that mattered.</p><p>“I was just wondering that myself,” he admitted, finally. “Marcus rarely mentioned her, though. Not even to me. If she’s expecting something out of the will, she may be disappointed.”</p><p>“It’s probably all going to Madame, anyway,” Mamoru muttered.</p><p>Jaysen hummed in vague agreement, though he knew better. Yes, most of Marcus’ estate had been going to Maxine, first, before other beneficiaries; emphasis on “had been.” That was before Marcus changed his will last year. Now, the part that mattered was going to Jaysen. That was really all he was concerned with in that sector. If Rei or Maxine got anything else—the townhouse, the money, even the cabin—he would be content. </p><p>“Still,” Mamoru continued, “If you want me to try and dig anything up…”</p><p>Though he’d been having similar thoughts earlier, Jaysen shook his head. “I wouldn’t put a priority on it. With Brooklyn gone, it’s more important than ever that we move on the Russians.”</p><p>“Already?” Zach drummed his fingers on the table. “I thought we were saving that until after, ah, everything.”</p><p>“Not even Maxine would turn her nose up at <em> that </em> contract, and the company needs it now more than we did yesterday.” </p><p>“True facts,” agreed Zach.</p><p>“Your meeting went well, then?” Mamoru asked.</p><p>Taking that for a cue, Jaysen launched into a trimmed down recounting of the past night’s escapades with Kristof’s cousins. There would be time for worrying about strange women and their stranger motivations later, when his entire life’s work wasn’t at stake.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Martin is still in with the board, but they should be wrapping up shortly,” said Nancy as she led Rei past a large, circular desk with two chairs; one empty, and the other occupied with yet another staring secretary. Behind the desk, blocked from view by a wall partition, was a long corridor lined with stately doors on the left, and frosted glass windows on the right. Based on the shadows beyond that glass and the drone of muffled voices, it was easy to assume that was the board’s meeting room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The end of the hall opened into a glass-roofed lounge with leather sofas, flowering planters, and a huge television in one corner facing a kitchenette against the far back wall. Local news was playing on mute, because of course it was, and they were running an article on her father, because of course they were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can wait in his office if you’d like, but I thought you may be more comfortable here? You’re welcome to make yourself at home, and if you’re hungry the kitchen is always well stocked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine, thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you say,” Nancy replied with a grin. She began to offer her hand to Rei, then seemed to think better of it and folded her hands in front of her. “I’ll be at the desk. If you need anything, feel free to ask. There’s a phone in the kitchen that will connect if you press nine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of Nancy’s heels disappeared down the hall, and Rei was officially left alone in the Holden’s castle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She suppressed a shudder as she perched stiffly at the edge of a sofa. This place was </span>
  <em>
    <span>different </span>
  </em>
  <span>than she expected it to be. The people were about as stiff and off putting as she’d always assumed, Nancy—and </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibly </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaysen—notwithstanding. The building was as large and ostentatious as she’d guessed. That said, the air of the office space, while formal and reeking of money, wasn’t as cloyingly restrictive or sanitized as she’d expected. Her mind had conjured images of sharp modern lines, a thousand shades of eye-searing white, and a strict no-plant policy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, the floors looked and sounded like real wood. They were stained a dusky brown like rustic farm flooring, and the walls were composed of large rectangles covered in a rust-coloured, fabric-like texture that gave slightly beneath her fingers. All the furniture was based in either black or white, but the cushions on the couch and kitchenette barstools were plump, soft, and swirling with floral patterns which complimented the walls nicely. That, combined with the vibrant greens of real plants growing in fixed planters lent the area a home-y feeling. Maybe not one that would ring true to any home Rei had ever lived in, but home-y nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, it reminded her of Kingdom's offices in Tokyo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last year, the company had taken over an entire floor of an office building inside Akasaka. Rei hadn’t thought she’d cared much about interior decorating until they began meeting with designers, all of whom only seemed to understand white-and-cream aesthetics with hard lines, and a weird fascination with geometric cut-outs. That was “modern,” “hip,” and “professional,” they said. Rei hated it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After some trial and error, she and Makoto finally found a local design team—a trio of sisters, as it happened—who were willing to work outside the box. Now, the Kingdom headquarters was filled with plush carpets, and colour. They’d taken care to preserve acoustics, or enhance them, where they were needed, and to dull noise where they weren’t. Everyone had private spaces to work in, that they could make their own to some degree, and the few shared spaces were filled with light, plants and comfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei pressed her lips together, trying to cover the sudden realization of how much she missed her Kingdom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several minutes later, she was still too lost in the ache of homesickness to notice the footsteps as they approached. It was the sharp inhalation of breath that drew her attention to the doorway, and the woman staring at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was instantly clear to Rei that this woman was either somewhat eccentric, or high enough on the social ladder to get away with quite a lot. Rather than sporting any of the current fashions—which, Rei admitted, </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>be different here than in Japan—her thick red hair was coiffed into a hairstyle reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn; both classy and little dated. Similarly, her small black dress was skimpy enough to be improper on anyone else, but somehow, between her pearl jewelry, the simple black clutch pressed with both hands over the woman’s stomach, and her tiny, 1950s gloves, it managed to precisely hit “respectable, but pushing it.” The four-inch stilettos didn’t help; particularly when the woman was already on the tall side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei was sure she’d seen this woman before, though she couldn’t quite place her. From the sour expression on the woman’s face, however, it was easy to guess that the woman knew Rei. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Martin is going through with this charade, is he?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei’s eyebrows shot up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself? Or do you just not speak English?” The woman clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes before Rei could answer. She muttered, “That would be about right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei was honestly surprised at how level she managed to keep her tone as she said, “Perhaps things work differently here, but in Japan we usually have the courtesy to introduce ourselves before launching into a conversation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman chortled, a sickeningly sweet smile crossing her red-painted lips. “Ah. There’s the problem. Such quick wit. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, did it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps that could have been meant as a compliment, but Rei didn’t think so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman sashayed across the room to the bar, where she placed her clutch and leaned with all the grace of a born debutant. “You don’t remember me, I take it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, that deceptively sweet smile. “No, I suppose not. You left at such a young age, and I can’t expect you to have any appreciation for the arts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sentence hung. It was clear the woman wanted Rei to take the bait. Rei would be damned, first. She sat there, waiting, until a little of the amusement drained from the woman’s face. Then, suddenly, the woman was closing the remaining gap between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took everything Rei had not to flinch backward from the woman’s approach, or the hand presented to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bernice Dumont,” said the woman. “I am—rather, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>—your Aunt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hesitantly, Rei shook the offered hand. “Was?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Martin and I divorced some years ago,” Bernice informed her with an ironic smirk. Her grip was firm, though not overbearing, and she backed away as soon as their hands were released. Instead of returning to the bar, she sat at the other end of Rei’s chosen couch. “Though clearly I’ve yet to remove the hooks left in me. Children will do that to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unsure of what she could possibly do with such a statement—one which implied Bernice considered her own children to be little more than an anchor—all Rei could say in response was, “Mm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, Bernice smirked. “Still not rising to the bait, hm? That’s good. You should probably keep that in mind if you’re going to stay here long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling another flash of irritation, kin to the one downstairs with Daphne, Rei snapped, “And is there a reason you’re ‘baiting’ me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you already know the answer to that,” said Bernice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just then, the glass door to the conference room opened to the sound of chattering voices. Bernice glanced over Rei’s shoulder to the hall. Her voice was lower when she spoke, now, though the smile never once slipped from her lips. “Just so you know, I told him to leave you alone. Marcus’ wish or not, it would be better for everyone if you weren’t involved. He’s always been such a soft touch. Too soft, for that family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you—” Rei’s words died beneath a voice behind her saying, “Rei.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned at the same time Bernice stood, but where Bernice was able to say “Martin!” and flounce forward for a hug, Rei turned to stone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marcus</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not quite the last way she had seen her father—pale, bloody, and quite clearly dead—but kin enough to the man depicted on the monument downstairs that if Rei didn’t know they weren’t twins, she would have assumed they were. Martin had a bit of silver at his temples now, and a pair of thin glasses that Marcus wouldn’t have worn to save his life, but otherwise… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite their divorce, Martin and Bernice hugged like old friends, and as they parted Bernice kissed Martin’s cheek. “We have a few things to discuss. Rei, I’m sure you won’t mind if I steal him for just a minute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei shook her head, and though Martin protested Bernice was able to pull him over to a door Rei hadn’t even noticed. It opened on another, private, elevator and then she was again alone with her hammering heart and shaking hands. She didn’t even have the presence of mind to feel anything other than grateful for the strange, incredibly rude encounter. </span>
</p><h2>
  <span>###</span>
</h2><p>
  <span>“I do apologize for Bernice. She can be a little much when you aren’t expecting her,” said Martin for what felt like the thirteenth time since they’d been left alone together. Then, with a change of topic that nearly gave her whiplash, he added, “You should try the duck. It’s fantastic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei glanced up from the menu she was trying to make sense of and found him smiling in the strangely sad, hopeful way he’d been smiling at her the entire car ride out to this restaurant, the name of which she didn’t dare attempt pronouncing. It was French, as was the entire menu. Still, loathe as Rei had been to let him buy her lunch, she was at least happy to be out of the office building. Besides, the menu didn’t even have prices… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure she is,” Rei said as noncommittally as she could. “I don’t think I’ve ever had duck before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I won’t tell you it tastes like chicken,” chortled Martin, who realized a moment later that Rei was staring blankly at him. He coughed to cover his mild embarrassment. “Sorry. My daughter says my jokes aren’t even good enough to qualify for the ‘dad’ category.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid I…” Her voice trailed off as a waiter approached them for their orders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let Martin handle his food and both their drinks, but when he looked to her for her food all she could do was ask, “Which of these is the duck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>canette à l’orange</span>
  </em>
  <span> for my niece, please,” Martin supplied to the waiter with what was either a tiresome or extremely accurate accent. Rei didn’t know enough about French to tell, and couldn’t hazard a guess as to whether or not Martin actually spoke the language. She decided to focus her curiosity on that, rather than reel at the sheer weirdness of being labeled his ‘niece.’ Sure, it was true, she was his niece. Yet, having him claim her so publicly, and so nonchalantly, felt weird beyond all reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waiter took their menus and disappeared. A moment later a bottle of white wine appeared alongside a wine glass and a water glass for each of them. The sommelier poured their wine glasses to half-full before leaving the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Martin said, “You were saying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, um.” Rei had to actually think about that. He’d said the ‘chicken’ comment was a joke, but that seemed a rather pointed sort of joke. She felt like she was missing something. “I’d just never heard that duck is supposed to taste like chicken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “But everything tastes like chicken,” Martin laughed, until he realized that she looked every bit as confused as she had before. Their table settled into an awkward silence for a few heartbeats before he cleared his throat and folded his fingers together on top of the table. “So, then. It’s been quite a long time, hasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei nodded, humming a note of agreement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do wish this could have been under better circumstances,” he said, accidentally repeating the lines from his email. “I never was one to travel much, though. I suspect you aren’t, either?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not outside of Japan, no,” Rei agreed. Even then, she’d rarely visited between islands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you liking New York so far?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s… busy,” Rei replied, her gaze cutting toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased a busy manhattan street. “Not unlike Tokyo, in that respect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?” Martin surveyed the window as well, the smile on his face never wavering though there was a tight sadness around his eyes as he watched the crowds walk by. “Maybe I’ll have to see for myself sometime. Marcus always spoke so highly of Tokyo, and of your—ah—’temple’, is it? The one your grandfather ran.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one he </span>
  <em>
    <span>runs</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Rei corrected him more forcefully than she’d intended. She lifts her wineglass to her lips, covering for a moment as her heart thuds in her breast. Marcus spoke highly of them? It sounds ridiculous. But what reason would Martin have to lie?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My apologies. The temple that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>runs</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Martin said into her silence. “He’s doing well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei set her drink gently upon the table as she nodded, collecting herself. “‘Shrine’ would be the better term, actually, though ‘temple’ is fine. And yes, thank you. He’s still quite healthy and hale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sounding unnervingly like he meant every word, Martin said, “I’m glad to hear that. I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but if he was anything like your mother I’m certain the world is brighter for his presence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Confusion locked around Rei as she tried to fathom the double meaning behind his words. There had to be one. Some sort of dig she wasn’t understanding, or a threat, or maybe just a simple insult? Maybe he thought she was dumb enough to rise to his bait? Was this what Bernice had meant? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the harder she tried to process this unfathomable turn of events, she kept coming back to the same conclusion: Martin had no reason to say any of that. No reason to behave nicely, or to apologize for Bernice, or compliment her mother and grandfather, or anything that he’d done recently. No reason except for one; the one that was the most unbelievable: he actually meant it. He was being </span>
  <em>
    <span>sincere</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Rei,” Martin said, his expression going soft and apologetic as he reached for her hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei jerked hers back instantly, and immediately felt ashamed, though she couldn’t decide why. She had never cared for strangers touching her, particularly without warning. Though they were related, Martin was very much a stranger to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She brushed a hand over her hot cheeks, wiping away the few tears that had escaped her burning and blurry eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually make such a scene.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Martin shook his head, holding up both hands to ward off further apologies. “That should be my line. I…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed after trailing off, and plucked his glass of wine from the table. After a long sip, nearly draining the glass, he set it back down and continued, “I believe I wrote something to this effect in my email, but I won’t pretend ignorance. There’s a lot of bad blood between all of us. While I never personally agreed with the way your mother was treated—or the way you were treated—I didn’t precisely intercede, either. I can only hope that, in time, you might find your way to forgiving me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Left entirely without words, Rei could only stare at him until he added, “Of course, you don’t have to say anything now. I would love to hear about your trip, however. It went smoothly, I hope? And Mina found you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The new questions gave Rei’s addled sense of the situation some stability. She nodded, then slowly began to relay some of the details of her flight; skipping over Nathaniel’s presence and downplaying the scene in the airport. Though Martin was apologetic about the misunderstanding, he also seemed somewhat amused. To her continued surprise, Rei actually found herself smiling as well. Now that she’d met Jaysen properly she had to admit the scene had been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little </span>
  </em>
  <span>funny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time their lunch arrived they had moved on to easier topics. She learned that Martin and Bernice had a single daughter, Elizabet, who was sixteen and currently lived with her mother. She was heavily into ballet, fancied studying at Julliard, and Martin couldn’t possibly be more besotted with her, as evidenced by the appalling amount of photos on his phone. Rei got to see pictures of the girl’s last seven recitals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sadly, I’m not certain if you’ll get to meet her,” Martin concluded as he accepted his phone back. “Bernice isn’t inclined to attend the funeral, and this weekend isn’t mine for visitation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was her uncle, though,” said Rei, in a vague sort of half-question. She wasn’t entirely certain why. It wasn’t as though </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> would be here if she hadn’t been strong armed into it, and Marcus had been her </span>
  <em>
    <span>father</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle or not, Bernice has never been inclined to put Elizabet into the family spotlight,” Martin replied with an easy shrug, barely seeming to notice the waiter removing their empty plates. “Not in her own spotlight, either, when she can help it. I have to admit, I actually do agree with her in that regard. Her concern is the number of reporters likely to make the funeral into something of a spectacle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Nathaniel’s theories were likely accurate, Rei surmised. That left a queasy note in her stomach which she quelled with the last of her wine. A very unhelpful sommelier was quick to refill the glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry,” said Martin, catching the gesture. He smiled. “I very much doubt they will harass you. You made your point quite clear a few years back, as I recall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, Rei felt her cheeks flush, but she lifted her chin high and met his gaze headon. “That man had it coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no doubt.” Martin’s violet eyes danced with good humor. “Regardless, I do hope Bernice changes her mind, if only that I might introduce you properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Given the woman’s attitude earlier, Rei thought it unlikely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, speaking of the funeral,” said Martin, as he tapped a few other buttons on his phone, “Would you like an itinerary?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be helpful, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her phone buzzed; her real one. Rei dug it out of her purse to see an email notice from Martin. Across the table, he said, “There. I just finalized everything this morning, but I’ll send you another if anything changes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it that complicated?” Rei asked, glancing up as she tapped the email open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re Catholic,” he said with a wry smile. “As I mentioned before, the funeral is being held at St. Catherine’s. That’s a short ride from the Hartford estate, but a fairly long one from the city. Given the wake tomorrow evening, I thought it would be best if you drove in with me tonight. The funeral is on Sunday, following mass, and I can either arrange a ride for your flight on Tuesday, or you can ride in with me on Monday. You’re welcome to the guest room at my condo, of course—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I already booked a hotel room,” Rei said, guts twisting uncomfortably at the thought of staying at someplace called an “estate;” particularly one which clearly belonged to the family. That was the exact reason she’d gone through the trouble of booking a room to begin with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you?” Martin looked surprised. “I’m sorry, Rei, I should have said something sooner. Of course, you’re welcome to stay wherever you’re most comfortable. I can text you the estate’s address. However, getting a cab out to Connecticut would be rather…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stalled on the word ‘expensive.’ Rei tried not to wince. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was right, of course. An out-of-state cab ride would be ridiculous, based on the fares she’d paid that afternoon, and if Martin was committed to leaving today, well… There wasn’t anyone else to ask for a ride out on Saturday, or even Sunday if she dared to skip the wake. Little as she knew about Catholic funerals, she was fairly certain this ritual was important. At the very least, it’s closest Shinto-Buddhist equivalent was, and Rei wouldn’t dare skip that if she’d been at home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, she could always ask—no. No, she wasn’t going to ask Nathaniel for any more help. That was worse than the idea of paying for a hotel room she wasn’t going to use.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah well. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but hers that she’d jumped the gun. Besides, if something went seriously wrong in Hartford, then she </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> get a cab back to New York. This way she would have somewhere to run, if needed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei shook her head. “It’s fine. I would appreciate the ride back on Monday, if that’s all the same. Though… this estate you keep mentioning…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t remember?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something about the subject which rung a bell, Rei had to admit, just as the mention of the Cathedral had in his email. She knew the family had some ties to Connecticut, though not precisely what they were. If she’d thought anything of it, she’d just assumed one or more of them kept a house in the area. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An estate, though… It did sound strangely familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she finally shook her head, Martin nodded vaguely and tapped his fingers on his wine glass. “The Hartford Estate is technically Madame’s home, though the entire family uses it as a sort-of—pardon the expression—but a sort-of headquarters. Everyone has permanent rooms there. They’re already expecting you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Madame’s home. Maxine Holden. Her grandmother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei had all but resigned herself to going to Hartford, and now felt the urge to dig her heels in all over again. If there was one person in this entire family whom she wanted nothing to do with, it was that harpy; the woman who was responsible for her parent’s divorce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could always ask Nate, the back of her mind insisted for a second time. He would be happy to help her arrange a car. Hell, he’d probably insist on coming along—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And wouldn’t that just be swell? She could only imagine what conclusions the reporters would jump to if she showed up at her father’s funeral, a day late and carting one of America’s supposedly most eligible “bachelors” on her arm. His and Makoto’s marriage wasn’t exactly common knowledge, after all. Though it would be soon, from the sound of things, which would make life far more complicated for both of them. That was without adding rumors of another woman to the mix.</span>
</p><p><em><span>No</span></em><span>,</span> <span>Rei reminded herself, </span><em><span>He doesn’t need to be drug any further into this than he already drug himself.</span></em></p><p>
  <span>That decided her. “You said you were leaving this evening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Martin agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’ll be happy to ride in with you,” Rei agreed. She bit off a sigh, remembering her half-empty suitcase back at the hotel. “But before that… Would you mind pointing me in the direction of a shopping center? I packed rather hastily, and realized there’s a few things I’m going to need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin’s smile was every bit as genuine as his apology earlier; so much so that Rei actually felt somewhat relaxed when he said, “I think I can do you one better.”</span>
</p><h2>
  <span>###</span>
</h2><p>
  <span>After dropping Martin off at the H.I.E. building, his driver escorted Rei around to several shops. The man knew the city like the back of his hand, which came in handy when Rei refused to shop at the sort of stores he initially showed her. However, her expenses on this trip were already too much for her bear thinking about. She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> adding absurd Neeman Marcus price tags to the mix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few hours and some moderately-priced casual wear later, Rei collected her suitcase from the Archer so they could swing back past H.I.E. for Martin and get on the road to Connecticut. Her uncle seemed somewhat surprised at the forethought, but grateful all the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took the bench seat opposite her in the car’s extended passenger cab, and promptly set up a lap-desk for his computer. Most of the trip was spent with the sounds of his typing and the odd, intermittent phone calls which he mostly listened through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei sat next to the window, watching as the buildings of New York gradually gave way to less dense urban sprawl, rolling forested hills and the occasional ocean view. The sun was setting, and her jet lag was catching up in a hard way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They crossed the Hartford city limit sign as the radio switched to a haunting, low melody. Eyes half-lidded and forehead pressed to the cool glass, Rei found herself humming and then singing softly along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fly the ocean in a silver plane… See the jungle when it's wet with rain… Just remember, when you’re home again… You belong to me…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small laugh from across the cab drew her attention away from the window. Martin was watching her with a sad sort of smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just didn’t expect you would remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The song?” His eyebrows lifted, and that was when Rei realized that, excepting for their voices, the cab was overwhelmingly silent. Who had turned the radio off? More importantly, when had they turned it on?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than admit her growing confusion, Rei rubbed the bridge of her nose and tried to smile. “My apologies. I think the jet lag’s getting to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin chuckled and nodded. “At this hour? Yes, I would expect so.” He glanced out the window then added, “No fear. We’re almost home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Rei shuddered involuntarily at the word. ‘Home’ did not apply here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she followed his gaze back out the window to the rolling hills of Hartford. While she had been dozing, woodland had given way to a broad expanse of grass which would have been the envy of golf courses worldwide. In the growing dark it was difficult to be certain, but she thought there were gardens further back from the road, with hedges obscuring a lighted stone figure that might have been a fountain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car turned in through the wrought iron fence after their driver flashed an entry card at the staffed security shack. Inside, the asphalt roadway graduated to a cobbled drive lined with pretty, geometric landscaping lights. Rather than make a direct approach, the drive curved around what proved to be a rose garden with a central gazebo backed by the great, looming edifice of the Holden Manor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Compared to this, Nathaniel’s sprawling mansion seemed like a pittance. Her mind ricocheted back to when she’d termed the H.I.E. building their “castle.” She’d been wrong. That wasn’t their castle at all, merely a summer palace. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the castle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The structure rose three stories at the front, with a grand entranceway held aloft by three massive stone arches. Though the front was lit well enough for Rei to identify the dense brownstone exterior facade, the gathering gloom only allowed her to guess at the existence of further wings set behind the rest of the building, looming off to the north and south. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car swung around through the round-about laid before the entry steps, and came to a stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While she had stared, Martin had packed his computer and effects into his briefcase. He was the first out the door when a uniformed man in white gloves opened it for them, then he held his hand out to Rei. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m alright,” said Rei, noting the flicker of hurt across his face before Martin stepped back and allowed her to get out of the car on her own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She started for the trunk, but he said, “The boys will take care of that. For now… I’m sure you’re hungry? Madame and I usually take our dinner about this time if you would like to join us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the day she’d been having, dinner--particularly dinner with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Madame</span>
  </em>
  <span>--was the furthest thing from what Rei wanted. In fact, the only thing Rei truly wanted was to go home. Her </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That wasn’t going to happen. She took another long look at the gargantuan, imposing ‘house,’ and pressed her lips together. She had been somewhat hungry on the drive over—french food was anything but generous with its portions, and she’d walked the majority of it off a few hours ago—but now…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now she was just exhausted. “If it’s alright, I think I’d like some sleep if it’s all the same. Jet lag, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he said, and opened the door to the foyer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei’s predominant impression of the mansion’s interior could be summed up in two words: “beautiful” and “ostentatious.” She immediately felt grubby upon entering, which in turn made her feel just annoyed enough to form an instant and lasting hatred of the place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the sort of house you got when you combined ungodly amounts of American money with pretensions towards European-style royalty. The floor was rich brown marble polished to a mirror shine, the foyer ceiling was two stories high with a chandelier large enough to crush an elephant, and the crown moulding could have been stripped from the halls of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Versailles</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Whereas the H.I.E. office had surprised Rei with its overall simplicity, the house surprised her by screaming “overkill” at the top of its gilded lungs. She had to wonder about the difference in aesthetics. Had they been decorated by the same hand, or was there something else at play, here?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A rigid man in a tailored suit and gloves stood like statuary beside a split staircase at the back of the foyer. His silver hair was cut to military precision, and the blankness of his stalwart, square face was belied by a strange twinkle in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rei, you remember—” Martin began, and paused with a wince. “Well, you may not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Mistress was </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite </span>
  </em>
  <span>young when she was last here,” the unnamed main said, bowing his shoulders very slightly toward her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jean-Paul is our butler,” explained Martin. “He manages the household. If there’s anything in particular that you need while you’re here, he’ll be happy to assist you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhat awkwardly, Rei extended her hand to the man. “A pleasure to meet you… again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The pleasure is all mine,” Jean-Paul assured her, with a warmth to his voice that didn’t appear in his face at all. He gave her hand a brief shake. “We have a room set up for you. I can take you there now if you would like to freshen up before dinner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rei exchanged a look with Martin, who seemed ready to say something when she opened her own mouth, “I would appreciate the directions, yes, but I actually thought I would skip dinner tonight. My apologies if you’ve already gone through the trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean-Paul’s lips thinned a little as the glimmer went out of his eyes. Whatever his problem was, however, he didn’t make an outward show of it. Instead, the man nodded, bowed his shoulders again, and gestured up the stairs. “If the Mistress would please follow me,” he said, and didn’t wait for an answer before moving along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jean-Paul gave her subtle directions along the way, pointing out sitting rooms and specific persons’ quarters, but Rei couldn’t remember a single item. By the time they stopped in front of a door set in a hall of identical doors she was thoroughly lost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room he showed her into was dark, with the curtains already drawn. The lightswitch only lit a single lamp next to the bed, and that was fine with her. She vaguely understood when he said something about dialing a number on the phone for help, like this was a hotel rather than a person’s home, and then she was finally, blessedly alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would have thought she’d be high strung, walking into the belly of the beast like this. For once, jet lag proved semi-useful; she was only and completely exhausted. She managed to strip off her shoes and jewelry, and wash her face in the attached bathroom. Then she made the mistake of sitting on the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next thing Rei knew, she was slumped sideways with her head on a pillow, staring at the man sitting straight-backed in an armchair across the room. In the slice of light from the open bathroom doorway she could see his perfectly pressed pants and wingtip shoes, and the way his fingers clutched at the armrests. She couldn’t see his face. She didn’t need to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere, far off in the distance, the scratchy warmth of a vinyl record played the opening bars of “You Belong to Me,” as Rei fell quite soundly asleep.</span>
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